


Mercury Man

by LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books



Series: Amerlie [2]
Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: 2020 based, Bickering, Dancing, E for Explicit Metaphors, Established Relationship, Hardcore Domesticity, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, I’m not saying angst but I’m not saying not angst either, M/M, Mutual Pining, References to Addiction, Romance, Song references, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, When two people love each other, and other things, like Explicit Fluff, reckless behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books/pseuds/LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books
Summary: One of the most important things Alex has learnt in lockdown is that you can’t bottle a hurricane.
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Series: Amerlie [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142015
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> “Have to be feeling excitable, up for it. On one a bit, you know.”  
> “Wantin’ to kick off.”  
> “More of a lad.”  
> “Got your tight jeans on.”  
> “I’m jus’ gonna have it tonight.”  
>  **\- Miles Kane, 2008, 2016, 2019-present**

_Vicissitude (noun): 1. A variation in circumstances or fortune at different times in your life, or in the development of something. 2. Mutability in life or nature (especially successive alternation from one condition to another)._

_“Sonic vicissitude” – Alex Turner, 2016 (Word association for ‘Bad Habits’)._

2015

Alex remembers the ache in his fingers fondly. Remembers the solid weight of that bass guitar slung across his chest, secured by the strap so he could stalk around the studio repeating the bass riff for the Nth time. They'd captured a vibe with it, and it moved with a rolling gracefulness that felt addictively dark-edges hard and unforgiving.

He felt it more with each pick of the string, the low E resounding deep through the amplifiers. The riff rises and falls in short succession, fast enough to trance the body into a constant movement that Alex feels swirl within himself. Each round is different, a sensuality that drives the body to move in a slightly different way all the time. He gives in to it and lets it move him as he rolls out the bass notes once more.

Miles stands at the microphone, hand curled tight over the head and the other wrapped around the stand. Alex gravitates closer, stopping in front of him. The notes had quickly become a permanent thread in his memory so he looks up to watch for Miles’ next burst of inspiration.

They’d been going for a while. Alex hadn’t checked the time, but slightly aching fingers probably indicated a solid 20 minutes of playing so far. The man of the hour seemed to be in a trance; eyes closed, mouth ajar, head moving to the music. Alex watches for the tell, the flicker in his eyelids, the tightening of the grip–and yes there it is. He picks out the notes and follows the crease in those eyes as Miles yanks the mic towards his mouth and spits out:

“Large Rabbit!”

Eyes flash open. The darkness leaps to the land of absurdity and it could have put Alex off if he weren’t shouting equally as random things since the start of this play. Loren’s drum kicks carry on the rhythm, strikes loud and piercing. Miles takes it all in stride. He's absorbing all the building energy they're giving him and turning it frenetic, a physical chain reaction with Miles as the wild element. Alex knows that’s what he must be feeling. He must be feeling a lot of things.

It’s not hard to see, especially with the crevices formed around those raised veins in his neck. It’s tension ready for a howl and on cue he lets it loose, mouth wide with the scream all over the mic and Alex is transfixed at the lips that pucker just under it, the vowel shifting as the note dies away.

Loren’s experimental roll has him realising that he’s a bit behind on the tempo, so he whips back into shape with his fingers curled over the neck again. This man will be the death of him.

“Bad Parrot!”

There’s an intensity to the way Miles’ spitting line travels through the mic and spears Alex clean through. He keeps the bass riff going and meets him head on, staring him down in challenge.

Miles yanks the mic stand closer. The wrap around his gazelle legs does is a little mesmerising. “A fuckin' sick puppy!” he sings, sharp and unforgiving. His hips are doing something interesting and Alex feels charmed by it, letting them keep his rhythm. He catches Miles’ eye again, and it’s a wicked look he’s getting now. It makes him go tongue-in-cheek as he backs away from the mic, but he raises his voice as he shouts over the music:

“Naughty naughty!”

The way Miles is all over the mic is how he can sometimes be behind Alex. All up in his space, the heat of his chest brushing over his back, erratic energy sparking deliciously over his skin. He bites his lip, watching Miles scent up the mic like a fucking tom cat.

“Alex Turner!” Miles sings, making the words fit into the menacing quality he adds to it. He points at him theatrically and Alex falls to his knees, the riff playing steady in his fingers. He’s a little sweaty now, even though the studio has air conditioning. The heat’s coming from someplace else entirely.

“Come on, baby.”

The rough edge has smoothed into a silkiness, although somehow it sounds dirtier than before. Alex bows his head over the guitar, keeping with Loren and pacing with the music. He tries out the variation for the pre-chorus, sliding the notes up on a new ride that takes the pitch higher then sends it back down.

“ _You wanna hold hands? Should we get back down? You wanna slow dance_?” Miles tears each one out and Alex rocks with each burst, grinning because he _loves_ Miles like this. It’s a feeling hard to express with one string on a bass guitar. In his head he can already hear the ringing chords of an acoustic filling in the gaps of where they need to be. He’ll have fun with that later.

“ _Oh come on…_ ”

When he looks up Miles has righted the stand. This time his drawn-out cry tapers into a moan and he jerks away from the mic like an electric shock had bolted through him. As if he stayed too near he’d send it flying across the room. Alex wishes he would.

Miles storms away, leaving him in the wake of the debris. Trust Miles to take them to a new level, a high that no low-class party drug could awaken in the human body. Trust him to take them to a place that leaves his veins thrumming, alive with the prickling rush of endorphins radiating through his brain. _This_ is why he loves working with Miles. Loves the performance, loves what they create together, _loves_ –

He’s startled from his thoughts, fingers flailing a little on the frets when he hears a screech of a gained-up electric guitar through the amplifiers. He smirks, getting up onto his knees, because Miles had wanted to focus on the lyrics rather than the solo parts today but, evidently, he couldn’t resist. In a way, Alex thinks, with the way Miles plays a leccy, it _is_ another lyrical instrument for him.

He gets to his feet, loose strands falling into his eyes. and listens to the absolute filth Miles makes the guitar say. He couldn’t repeat it for other ears, but it’s explicit enough to carry the heat across the room to whirl into Alex once again. Miles yanks the guitar around, and it makes his scalp feel tender–it remembers. He forgets his duty for the bassline and runs a rough hand through his hair. It flops back messily but he doesn’t give a _fuck_ honestly, because Miles is giving him that look.

They’ve left the pre-chorus now, and they're dancing in the lull where they wanted a bridge to happen but the transition was still in development. Alex wipes a sweaty hand on his trouser leg and goes back into position. Miles obviously wants something to happen-he’s got that look on-so Alex tries out another variation of the bass line, one that sounds like the first but abruptly cuts off to silence.

It's a silence that feels loud with the brief absence of the bass. Feed for the tension settling over the stage.

His mind, which isn't quiet, whirls wildly as he thinks of where they could take this. That’s what this part is. It’s not about the notes, it’s about what happens when they’re gone.

And-emphasising just why this man will forever be the death of him-Miles reads it perfectly by taking an aborted step forward, smirking.

Loren has caught on too. He’s gentle on the kit as Alex plays the new bassline again and stops with them as the studio falls quiet.

Yes, there it is. Alex wants to write down every detail of this scene to store into his mind for years to come because _that’s_ the feeling, the tension layering on so thick its become another character in this play. It’s so tangible he can almost see Miles walk through it as he takes another step towards him. Alex lets it drive him forward too, making an exaggerated lift of his foot like a giant stepping on the lowly valleys of jack cables and patterned rug fields.

The air’s thick with it, but they manage to fight through it. Another step in unison and Miles is close enough that the neck of the bass could strike him. Alex quirks a brow at him, a cheeky question he doesn’t think Miles will act on. Not in front of Loren that is.

What he does do, in fact, is raise the guitar off his body. A distorted sound cries out more filth as he pulls it up and just like the abruptness of the bassline he yanks it back down, cutting off the ringing dissonance. He takes a step forward, and it’s that flare in his dark eyes that switches their symbiotic dance to a predatory hunt. Heart rabbiting–and it’s a large fucking rabbit–Alex watches his face as he starts to sink down, but Miles’ sharp look has him straightening up again. So they’re playing the long game. Alright.

Miles walks him backwards slowly, still in the thick of the tension they’ve created, what only lives in the shadows. Alex can taste it, heavy on his tongue and dark with the promise of something deep and filling. He feels his jaw loosen, lips slowly opening as oxygen goes to where it’s needed. He barely has the clarity of thought to continue picking the notes out but he manages to keep going and Miles approves with a nod, still backing him up to the corner.

The corner where the mic stands. Alex reaches back when they get to it and Miles slinks around him to position himself in front of it again.

It’s barely curtain call. The spotlights are on for the next scene, but the magic has already happened in the shadows. More words sprout up, demanding to be heard, but they descend into nonsensical waffling. Miles looks like he’s going to say something into the mic-and Alex watches him like a hawk-but he stops when Alex cuts the bassline again. His head jerks up, eyes closed to the wild energy he's riding on. It feels like scene one again, but it’s more like scene one hundred, the one where the orchestral strings join in to take them to the peak.

It’s with a tilt of his head that Miles invites him in. Taking it without a second thought Alex shifts the neck of the guitar away and slides into the space made for him. Guitar now forgotten, Miles curls an arm over his neck and presses them closer together. Alex keeps his hands positioned on the bass and rests his head on Miles’ own-damp forehead to sweaty hair. He’s ready. Ready when Miles adjusts the mic head between them, and he’s ready when he forgoes the careful placement to simply turn his face into Miles’ cheek.

A single bass note rings out.

_“Should’ve known, little girl that you’d do me wrong,”_ he sings into him, nosing up the cheek where he feels a smirk tug up at the tell on Miles’ face. Loren has started a ticking rhythm on the hi-hat and it does feel like a countdown. It’s the ticking watches of storm chasers, of astronauts before take-off. He can only imagine what their show would look like, but he feels it’ll be a lot like it is now. It can’t not be.

“ _Should’ve known by the way you were showing off._ ” Alex grips the bass harder so he can settle a bit more into the furnace, knees locking so the wind won’t sweep him away. He’ll fucking stake his territory here–

Miles turns his head away from the mic, and the personal space slithers into only a slip of space between them. It’s a smooth transition, but it’s also kind of obvious that they almost break. Almost. He closes his eyes as Miles trails up the side of his face, biting his lip to combat the smile.

The timer continues to tick. He gets a cue to shut up on the next line because Miles pushes harder with his head and sings first, “ _Should’ve known, little doll, that you’d do me wrong.”_ His breath fans against Alex’s mouth, and it’ll be a stretch if the mic was able to pick that up. He opens his eyes and drops them to watch Miles’ lips. He’s smiling, cheeky. Hands fall from his shoulders to reach for the guitar.

The countdown’s upon them now. Incessant.

Alex leans in further, electricity prickling over his skin. He opens his mouth and lets the air rush out of him before he sucks it back in and sings, “ _Should’ve known by the way you were showing off…”_

Loud.

Miles’ teeth grazes his lip.

Ticking–

  
2020

Alex opens his eyes to a ceiling and an empty bed.

The light is too bright for its own good so he closes them again and feels around the cool sheets for that little...thing. When he finds it his hand curls over it and he brings it close to his face. After a little fumbling he lifts the brightness and swipes to speed dial.

It connects on the second ring.

“What’s the story, morning glory? Miss your face.”

Alex turns abruptly onto his side, eyes squinting away the light. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“You just woke up.” He hears Miles snicker. “Al, give it a minute and you’ll remember. I’m at me house. Just finishe–”

“Boxing!” Alex grumbles, face falling into the pillow. “Fucking, yes. Boxing.”

“Say that with a lil' more pillow in your mouth, didn’t catch the nuance there.”

Alex sinks further into the bed. “Dreamt of Shangri-La.”

“Sorry, baby, haven't mastered the course on pillowtalk-”

Alex groans, lifting his head up from the bed. “Shangri-La!”

“Tha’ better not be my pillow you’re chewing.”

Alex releases his teeth from the edge of the pillowcase, watching the damp end fall limply. “M’not.”

He listens to the sound of doors closing, of something heavy hitting the floor. It’s probably that monstrosity of a thing that Miles punches out, blasting Little Simz all the while. He props himself up on his elbows and pushes the hair from his forehead.

“Shangri-La, ey?” Miles drawls, slightly out of breath. Alex imagines him pulling that thing into storage. He appreciates the thought for a second. “Let me guess, before or after you gave me a blowie in those fancy toilets?”

“Mm, before. And most importantly, I may bite but you drool on all of your pillows.”

“Oh my god, Al–” He smiles at the laugh. “You’re talkative for the morning.”

“M’just processing,” he says, blinking the dreariness from his eyes, “ETA?”

“Gonna take a shower then pop to the shops for a few, so just under an hour probably.”

“You know what, Miles? Think I’ll start drooling on me pillows from now on. Might make me more endearing to your affections, since they’re severely lackin–”

“Right, I’m hanging up on you.”

Alex laughs when he gets the disconnected tone. He flops back onto the mattress and blinks out more sleep. He’s partway through a very satisfying yawn when his phone lights up again.

He swipes green and yawns, “Mark speaking.”

“Hello Mark, hotel concierge here. Do your guests need anything from the shops? I’m taking requests for five seconds only.”

Alex stretches. “Uh them-mix-Bombay Mix? Um, those cracker things. Original. Fancy.”

It’s a jumble of words, and he blames the morning. Miles requires no translation. “Ok, he wants Ritz biscuits. I’ll pick up some fruit too.”

“I want you, on my doorstep, holding a 200-gram packet of Ritz. Don’t let me write it down now.”

“Or it might actually come true,” Miles cries theatrically, and Alex hides his smile in his arm. “Alright darling, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“And I too have the same problem.”

He waits until the call disconnects before pulling it away from his ear. Miles has a tendency to suddenly remember things he wants to say right before the call ends. It’s another one of his things which has Alex falling into the habit of lingering a little at the end, just in case.

In the short few months, their recent co-habitation has given Alex a bit more habits than he’d anticipated. As the season finally thawed out of Winter and settled into the gradually warming Spring, they managed to navigate around their ‘lockdown routine’.

The house was big enough for each of them to have their own space and they utilise it when needed, a situation that Alex knows they're lucky to be able to combat with. That’s the thing about music-the records carry on circulating; either on the radio or throughout the homes of people that keep it alive. It’s the industry of music creation that gets bottle-necked, with the commercial studios closing their doors to the little guys who can’t fork out the big cash.

They weren’t on a strict time frame to start writing a new Monkeys album just yet. All the demos and ideas they’ve been sharing get locked up in a ‘For Later’ folder for them to peruse through at the appropriate time. Alex isn’t entirely sure when the appropriate time will be, but right now the priorities seem to be less about work and more about family.

It’s a shift that comes with its own little gifts, especially Jamie’s picture of his little one reaching out for the camera, captioned: ‘ _I don’t know what I’m doing but I’m in love??_ ’ Their email chain had turned into a version of ‘fathers roasting each other’, which it kinda was before, but it had picked up in the last few months.

His own contribution had been various sneaky pictures of Miles around the house, captioned in the similar spirit to Jamie’s he thinks. One included Miles looking out at the garden from the back room. His back (which was always facing the camera because he still doesn’t know about these) was silhouetted from the light of the window that framed around him. Alex had written underneath: _The garden is getting its daily dose of vitamin D today._

Nick was the first to respond: _Good to see the squirrel’s looking after you_.

Then Matt: _Yeah Alex, we don’t need to know how great your sex life is. TMI brother._

And Jamie: _What is a sex life? :(_

That was just a portion of his weekly entertainment. Alex suspects he’s being featured in Miles’ own personal circle, going by the innocent smiles he catches when he’s sitting at the piano and sees Miles leaning against the door frame, phone jutting out of his pocket. It’s the things they do.

Even though work hadn’t been a priority at this time his brain has been fixated on _Amerlie_ for a while now. He enjoys the spell they get sucked under when Miles trips over himself to share a new riff on the acoustic, and it can be hours of them just mucking around with ideas until hunger becomes impossible to ignore. He can admit to himself, they’re a little besotted with her already. In the spirit of John Lennon he finds himself thinking, _Beautiful Amerlie, darling Amerlie_. It’s a scary development, but one he feels a warm camaraderie with when he scrolls through that email chain again.

The months have come with its own challenges too. And whilst Amerlie is a gift of an everblooming tree, it’s within a strange tunnel Alex’s been calling the ‘Lockdown Lows’.

It’s the inevitable feeling that comes when you’re in one spot for too long. Even Alex, who wouldn’t be averse to the idea of retreating into his man cave of ‘productivity’ and ‘not too many naps’, gets the feeling when the sun breaks through the clouds and immediately thinks of anything else he could be doing outside the house.

Miles is feeling it too. He’s got an energy that needs release more often than not, and ever since he’d practically moved into Alex’s London home it’s a well that’s been tapped into with –vigorous– enthusiasm. Alex’s not complaining on that front, although his back _and_ his arse would accentuate that this man would be the death of him one day. It definitely helps to ease the thrumming under the skin, one they used to chase to satisfy on their rush to a stage like astronauts shooting straight into the stratosphere. It’s another important portion of their lockdown routine, and one that he does _not_ share with the email chain.

Some mornings, like today, Miles would go back to his place and punch out frustrations with his boxing setup. They don’t have one in the home gym, but even if they did it does Miles good to leave the house now and again. Alex would usually take the alone time to keep up with his own fitness and use the gym, or–more often than he’s willing to admit–be naughty and sleep in. Sort of like now. Fuck it, he thinks, head still cottony from sleep. He can make his own rules.

Own rules on his own time. But as it happens, falling for a person that makes you want to rearrange your entire life for them is quite bloody inconvenient for a lone wolf mentality. Miles’ scent still lingers on the bedspread, but when Alex blinks up at the dappling light waving over the ceiling all he really wants to do is point out to Miles the peculiar resemblance to the Aurora lights. Wants to share the lazy days, the bored days, which apparently he can’t even do by himself anymore. _Fucking Kane._ He’s long accepted that now though, so he gets up to remove himself from the bed.

He shuffles around the house, taking a shower that he indulgently stays too long in. This morning is judgement free. He enjoys a mug of mocha (spritzed with whipped cream) and a heavily buttered bagel that he munches on as he listens to the late morning radio debate on _LBC_. It informs him of some new insights, such as how parents want to ship their kids off to Mars and that flour has become the new luxury. All riveting, stimulating discussions for their many listeners he thinks, and he perks up from the presenter interrupting the caller once again when the jangle of keys at the front door announces Miles’ return.

“I’m back!”

“In ‘ere!” Alex hollers, necking back the rest of the mocha as he slides off the stool. He hears the crinkling of a carrier bag and leaves the kitchen to walk into the hallway. “What did y–wow. Did you rob an Argos?”

Miles pushes a box into the hallway. In the porch behind him there’s at least another seven more bags and he reaches to drag two in. He looks up and chuckles at Alex’s face, shrugging. “Popped into a few more places.”

“Like Costco?” Alex snorts but moves in to help him move the bags out of the porch and into the kitchen area.

“I was going to, but the line went round the fuckin' building, crazy out there. Fuck, that smells good.”

“The smell of bagels, Miles. And I ate yours 'cause you took too long.”

“Fair,” Miles says as he enters the kitchen with two bags in each hand. “Maybe I got a little carried away.”

Alex helps him set them down and then he leans in for a chaste kiss that tastes of dewy Spring. “Mm, the boxing didn’t help?”

Miles sighs. His fingers twitch at his sides. “No it did, but truthfully, jus’ had to move around you know? Put meself in a different space for a bit.”

Alex raises himself up a little so he could peck at those cold cheeks. “You do what you need to do.”

“Even if I have to go to Costco?” he says it glumly, but the smile gives him away.

Alex grasps the back of his neck, bringing his forehead to bump with his, “Costco. Ikea. Miles, you could do a secret gig in Butlins and I’d support ya. Be fucking miffed, but I’d get it.” He finishes it with a swift kiss to those pouty lips. “Get the Ritz?”

Miles leans into him for a second before pulling away, smirking.

“Help me pack this away and you’ll find out.”

2016

This man will truly be the death of him.

“Let’s fuckin’ave it!” someone roars, leading another rousing cheer over the thumps of the deafening music.

It’s the type that comes with its own lightshow, the strobe effects dancing over the ceiling with a large rotating projection of the current record playing. The massive speakers are piled old-school style against the wall and they pump out vibrations that pulse heavily over Alex’s skin and send his heart racing.

“We like to drink with Lozza, and Lozza is our mate! And when we drink with Lozza, he downs it down in eight-seven-six…!”

Alex raises his own drink, feeling the vibration of his nonsensical words leave him and into the drunken countdown as Loren gets beer all over the side of his mouth and down his chin. Americans, barely able to neck a decent pint. He says as much, or yells (he can’t really hear himself), and gets a heavy slap on the back from the man of the hour.

“But kudos to the Aussie! Come on guys!”

Alex raises his drink again, almost knocking it against Avery’s forehead. “Kudos! God bless ‘im, and us, for his guidance.”

“God bless ‘im!” Miles spins away from where he was choke-holding Loren to raise his own half empty glass at Cameron. “Good–” he hiccups, and it makes Alex snicker “–fucking tunes.”

It’s a small break between tour dates, so they’ve allowed themselves to break formation and ‘get fucking smashed tonight, lads!’ Miles had said back at the hotel. He’s got his tight jeans on, so he means business. A good time out is not to be taken lightly when the storm of Wirral itself decides to let loose. Alex made sure to have a proper dinner because he knew the drinks would be coming in hard tonight, and he wanted to ride this wave for as long as his body could take it. It’s a strange push and pull with every drink, and every tune the DJ puts on a new one it pulls them into a swirl of testosterone-fuelled semi-coherent yelling.

The club itself is an ambiguous tuck-away downtown that pulls people from all over the state according to the man himself. Avery had sworn that they’d like it, and he wasn’t wrong. God bless Cameron. God Bless his Good, Fucking Soul.

“Good lad.” Alex smiles, patting him on the chest with the side of his glass. The vibration of Black Sabbath’s _War Pigs_ trembles his eardrums and he swipes his glass-free hand down at the heavy-hitting riff like he’s got a guitar on his hips. He never really knows how to co-ordinate his body without having something to hold onto, but it's easier to let go to the music when he's just another star in the constellation of many.

Miles can dance with or without holding onto something heavy and hard, and Alex knows he’s got seconds before he’s pulled away into the hurricane.

“Lemme put this down!” he says when he sees Miles surge into his space. The light dances over his face, stark in the black and white lines that make him look like those wrestlers done-up in war makeup. He shimmies closer, not touching, but he gets close enough that Alex can already see the sweat glisten the exposed skin of his chest. He’s dressed up to dance-light on top, snug on the bottom-and Alex appreciates.

He pulls the drink out of Alex’s hand and the next second they’re shooting their hands up to belt out, “ _Now in darkness world stops turning!”_ Alex brings his hands down at the strike of the down beat and Miles tips the rest of the drink back. “ _No more war pigs have the power!”_ they sing, and Alex spots Loren beating his chest off to the side, hair reflecting the kaleidoscope of colours that wave over them. He laughs.

_“Day of Judgement, God is calling!”_ Alex waits for the second drop, but the DJ does that annoyingly DJ thing where the song cuts off to merge with the upcoming one. He quickly forgives them, because the next one that mixes in is a banger and Miles rushes to put the glass back as the crowd of people around get hit by a new wave of energy.

“Fucking yes!” Zach roars, and his face is flushed from his earlier Cowboy shots, whiskey mixes were fucking brutal. The Prodigy’s _Firestarter_ is a classic ‘fuck shit up’ mood and Alex cheers him on when he moves from the bar to the middle of their group where Miles comes back. The two size each other up, pretending like they’re going to kick off. Zach flexes his arm, kissing the swell of muscle and he gets a wolf whistle from two women that pass them to the floor. Miles jerks his chin. He’s broadened his shoulders to compete with Zach’s mass and he’s got that cocky smile which Alex knows spells trouble.

Loren is spitting some fight talk at them, rambling on about _Nature Boy coming into the ring!_ Alex laughs, moving to the driving beat of the song. The strobe light flashes over them and in the next moment Miles lurches his face forward right into Zach’s. It’s sudden enough to make him step back, and that's the opening Miles uses to shove himself into his side in a wrestling move that charges them backwards-almost sending them careening into Loren.

“They’re crazy and I’m loving it,” Cameron says, jumping in to drag Loren away from the red zone. They spin away and hang off each other as they jump to the blasting “ _Twisted animator!”_

Miles and Zach twirl each other around, trying to trip each other up. It’s solid entertainment, although scrappy at best, and they almost crash into him with the absolute zero awareness between them.

“Oi!” Alex turns, narrowly missing an elbow to the side. Miles whips his head up from under Zach’s armpit, the collar of his shirt completely twisted. He's ruffled and flushed and, really, it’s a small mercy that security aren’t muscling past the dancers to haul the two out by their ears. Alex quirks a brow at him that should relay the sentiment and Miles laughs, wriggling out from Zach’s choke hold who lets his arm drop.

“I’ll take that as a draw,” Miles says with a grin, heels shifting his weight side to side.

Zach punches his arm. “Bro, you fucking conceded.”

“You want som–!” Alex wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him into his side before they start another scrap that forces them all out. Miles settles his hands on him, fingers light on his black shirt. Zach flexes at him again which gets him a wise gesture, and the pits of the floor gape open in an outer-body experience when Alex hears a painfully familiar young voice from the speakers.

“Oh my god.” Miles grips him tighter, stopping him from sinking into the floor. The black and white image of Chris McClure rotates on the ceiling and the lights pulse over the people that immediately start getting into the Arctic Monkeys’ _From The Ritz To The Rubble_.

_“So step out the queue he makes examples of you!”_

“Someone told 'em I was here,” Alex tries to grumble, but it’s hard when Miles’ infectious energy immediately starts bouncing them to a dance he can't escape from. The guitar blasts out around them in the chorus and Miles howls, spinning him around. He’s briefly glad it’s not his face turning on the ceiling. Even so, it normally took people a second look to recognise him from the bobbing lad to _The Fonz_ to him now at 2016. Of course, Miles clears his worries by gripping his shoulders and yelling from the top of his lungs:

“Alex Fucking Turner baby!” he announces, loudly. He doesn’t embellish it with pointing but he might as well have with the volume he gets. He doesn’t let Alex squirm away either. His face is burning hotter than its ever been since he’d started drinking tonight, but he also feels so fucking warm at Miles’ shining-those bloody shining eyes-and it’s ridiculous. Ah fuck it, he careens into him, knocking his balance off. He loops an arm over his neck and as Miles secures his arm around him they go off, dancing to the song like it’s 2008 all over again.

_“Got too deep, but how deep is too deep?”_

Alex bounces into him, and they almost knock into every person in their vicinity. As they dance around he spots Loren on Zach’s back, getting spun about as he reaches down to slap at his arse. Cameron, whose shirt is halfway unbuttoned for some reason, is making finger guns at the ceiling and then Alex loses him in the sea of bodies.

Miles squeezes him and they turn to each other, wide-eyed and breathless to sing out, _“Last night what we talked about, it made so much sense. But now the haze has ascended, it don’t make no sense anymore, oh!”_

The lights flash over his body and Alex watches him jam out to the song. It’s like an animated picture, snapshots taken in quick succession when the strobes flash over them. Arms are up, then down, curling over his head, then taking his waist. Miles smirks at him, McClure’s wry expression rotates above him and Alex presses in closer to Miles’ flickering image.

Fingers trail over his back, and they rock together to the transition which sounds like Foo Fighter’s _Bridge Burning._ The strobe effect on him shifts to a magenta as the lights pulse with the new song being mixed in. The guitars build up and it’s obviously a crowd favourite because a guy almost knocks into them with his rush to get into the thick of the floor, and Miles has to quickly turn him from getting splashed with alcohol from another hammered Foo Fighters fan. Alex knows this song the least, but he knows the first line, and they detach from each other to yell into the ceiling:

_“These are my famous last words!”_

Alex moves immediately to a head-banger, hair flying into his face. All the blood has probably rushed to his head because he loses his balance, falling back against someone. A drink spills, because he feels his back immediately run wet, and that’s when things kick off.

“What an ass!”

Alex feels a hand shove at him, which makes him stumble, but then Miles is there, snapshot quick under the strobes. He catches Alex by the waist and subtlety moves him out the way for him to sidle right up into the asshole’s face.

“You got a fucking problem, mate?”

Which doesn’t really help but–

“How about you get out of my fucking face!”

Alex watches as the quick succession of strobes light up the escalation when Miles steps in further and the fella immediately shoves at him. The music is practically deafening around them and he can see it already: two men obviously wanting to kick off and wired on probably more than just the night and the music. Alex swears under his breath when he clocks on to the approaching fight, and he tries to pull Miles’ arm but he moves it to shove the guy back.

“Miles–”

_“Your bridges are burning now, they’re all coming down!”_

The scene unfolds quickly. Flashes of magenta light up on them when the two clash, arms swinging for punches that connect sloppily but painful. They stumble, immediately grappling at each other to get in the next hit.

“Fucking–oi, Miles!” Alex gets behind him but Miles slips out, the shit, and rounds on the guy again with a sharp jab to the side that the asshole retaliates with a fucking kick of all moves. The guy is stockier, but Miles has the slightness to be lithe around heavy kicks like that. He gets in another shove but Yankee grabs at his arm and they go down in a tangle.

“Shit, Avery!” Alex hops over an empty glass, and the soberness makes him painfully aware of the stickiness under his shoes and down his back. Now, Alex isn’t one prone to violence. He’s not. But he can attest for just about every warm-bloodied man that there’s a well of something down there, where the Earth melts into hot magma, that’s available to be tapped into whenever needed.

He feels it now, a volcanic heat of rage bubbling forth when Miles gets pinned under the asshole and takes a blow to the face. He snaps, magma raging and scorching, and needs no further incentive to rush at Coke Head. With his momentum he manages to dislodge him at the collision, sending him stumbling off into the breakaway crowd watching them. He sees red, feels scorched and _pissed_ as he takes a swing at that dumb– _fucking_ –face–

“Hey hey hey–” Miles is quick again and comes up behind him, taking the position that Alex was attempting before but failed. His tight grip over the shoulders hinders any arm movement and the haze descends back to a thrumming adrenaline rush that sends him slumping back, panting. Miles’ chest expands against his back with his own breath. “Hey, alright, thank you baby, come with me,” he mumbles into his neck and turns them around, quickly walking him off the floor.

Electricity as searing as the heat flushed at his neck makes his body shake, the hair still upright on his arms. Cameron eventually finds them when he makes it out of the throng of people. Undeterred, or maybe riding off the buzz of the fight, the party continues around them. The lights swirl, colours shifting with another change of song and Avery blanches when he sees them.

“The fuck? That was you two!? Miles your face–”

“Should’a seen the other guy,” Miles quips. He keeps walking him forward, tightening his arms when Alex tries to squirm around.

“Ah shit, ok. I’ll round up the guys.” He ruffles his hair, looking slightly harassed, and moves back into the crowd.

The light show pulses with the distortions of a droning guitar and Miles walks him into the turnoff for the men’s toilets. The music becomes muted when the doors shut behind them and Miles continues to march him to the mirrors where he finally lets him go but stays close to his back.

“Didn’t need to do that, Al.”

Alex looks at him through the mirror, and he’s ready to go off on a spiel about how many punks he would punch, nipple twist and drop-kick without second thought for this man but the blood smeared across Miles’ face stops that.

“Mi, Jesus.” He leaps to the side to pull out tissues from the dispenser. “Bend over that sink. Fuck, turn the tap on.”

Miles grumbles, but does as he’s told. “I know how to clean up getting socked in the face–”

“I know you do, now shut up.” Alex moves in again, running the tissues under the water and then pressing it to his face. He’s gentle as he wipes the blood away, and Miles rests a hand on his shoulder. He’s quiet, up until Alex runs it over the bridge of his nose and he hisses.

“Sorry,” Alex murmurs.

“Lemme do it.” Miles reaches up for his wrist but Alex shakes him off with a snort.

“Just like you did out there ey? Fuck off, Mi. Let me do it–”

“I know what hurts!”

“Are you two seriously bickering right now?” Cameron says, announcing his arrival with the rise of music.

His appearance makes them startle a bit, but when Alex looks back at Miles it’s the twinkle in those eyes that makes him bite his lip. He still feels that thrumming under his skin, but it’s an energy that that sparks into a building, giddy mirth that he can’t contain. He drops his arm as laughter bubbles through and Miles’ own wet snickers set them off fully.

“I don’t think I can with you two–”

“I was totally wired man,” Miles gets out between giggles and Alex shakes his head, reaching for more tissues that he gets damp under the running water.

“Drank a jar of coffee today, didn’t ya babe?”

“Life leaves you surprised.” He winces when Alex runs it over his face. “Fucking slapped me in the eyes and’all.”

“Fucking irate it left me,” Alex agrees, smiling when Miles huffs out a laugh through another wince.

Cameron leans against the wall, and Alex can't tell if he's smiling or grimacing. “Called a cab to pick us up outside, goin’ back to the hotel yeah?”

Alex catches Miles’ eye through the mess of tissues. He feels the stickiness of drying alcohol on the back of his shirt and grimaces. He could do with another outfit change after sorting Miles’ sorry state out.

Miles says solemnly through the swath of tissues, “My heart and I agree.”

It triggers another round of giggles, and Alex misses the moment Cameron rolls his eyes at them, says something fitting and then leaves them laughing in the toilets.

“He’s fucking _peeved!_ ” He hears as the door swings shut behind him.

* * *

Lights flash over the stage, and there’s a rumbling coming from the audience as the people drum their feet on the floor. Rattling sounds in the distance. In a dramatic flair the conductor holds up a clenched hand and the orchestra halts. Vicissitude. The rumbling stops.

Silence hangs in the air.


	2. Act II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...Silence hangs in the air._

_Mercury (noun): The smallest planet, and the closest planet to the sun. Temperatures can reach up to 450 degrees Celsius / 842 degrees Fahrenheit._

2020

Cigarette smoke blows silently into the night.

From where he stands inside the kitchen, looking out at Miles leaning on the garden deck, Alex watches the smoke twirl and then dissipate into thin air. Obviously it’s gone somewhere, but it’s virtually invisible, an illusion of a magnitude hard to grasp.

Where does electricity go, when it pushes itself through the currents, but the switches are off? What micro-chaos does one cause every time a phone charger is switched on but there’s no phone plugged in? Alex wonders if it sounds like microphones on high, held up against a speaker. A generation of feedback that bounces back on itself so much it pushes out a sound that makes the ears itch and the brain bleed.

All lovely thoughts for a Tuesday evening.

He sets them aside to ponder on later and slides the back door open. Miles turns around, tapping off the ash into the outdoor tray Alex had kept there for that exact purpose. His subtle smile at Alex’s arrival is probably one of his favourite ones and he sidles up next to him, handing over a wine glass. His thank you comes quietly, silent in words but clear when he tilts his head and Alex lifts his own to receive the gentle kiss. It’s warm, tasting like smoke and Ritz, and he shivers.

“Mm.” He licks his lips when they part and flicks up the collar on his coat.

Miles crowds against his back, arms coming to rest up on the railing as his jeaned hips nestle behind him. Alex takes a sip from his glass and enjoys the warmth radiating into him.

“You look good in that,” Miles says, and Alex shivers for a different reason when Miles runs his nose up his neck, pressing lingering kisses to the rising goosebumps his skin.

“Perhaps,” Alex turns his head back a little, “the only thing of yours I look better in than you?”

Miles huffs, nestling closer, “You know what it does to me when you wear my clothes like that.”

“Hm, kinda turned on, then kinda wishing I don’t ruin them?”

“Exactly,” Miles growls, nipping at the sensitive side of his neck. It makes Alex squirm and _not_ reward it with a laugh.

He holds the glass out a little and says, “Well, if I spill this red wine all over meself, I’m blamin’ you.”

Miles chuckles against him, then pulls his face away to take a long drag of the cigarette. It’s almost to the butt, so he stubs it out on the tray beside them. Alex sees that it joins a second one, but he doesn’t comment on it.

The garden is partly lit by the porch lights. It’s been recovering well from the Winter and later cold snap. Buds are plentiful along the branches of the bushes and leaves are starting to grow out again. It’s a relatively young garden in tree years. The previous owner had kept it manicured along the edges, but Alex had gone and let it grow wild in the last year to see what he had to work with. He keeps his eyes peeled for new shoots in the cleared spaces of their new wildflower patch, wonders if the soil is too hard to break through.

“Been thinking, bout so many random things,” Miles says with his face resting in Alex’s hair. “Shit I took for granted,” he sighs, and Alex sacrifices a warm hand to slip out of the coat to curl over the thin material of Miles’ arm. He holds on, firm and secure. “Jus’ a bit unsettling, you know?”

“Never know where it’s gonna go.” Alex scans over the evergreens and then his gaze skips to the sky. The moon is out. “Politicians know fuck all, or pretend to.”

Miles groans a little. “This isn’t another conspiracy is it?”

Alex pauses. “And if it is?”

“I’d wanna hear the rest so we can turn it into some funky lyrics.”

Alex snickers, and holds the arm steady when Miles shimmies into him. “Right, okay. M’serious about this coat, Mi.”

Miles halts the dancing, but he nuzzles a little into his hair and soft words speak into the quiet, “The sweetness of you lingers on my skin,” he says, a hushed confession over his cold ear. “River red sinking in.”

Alex shifts, subtly tilting his head back for that warm mouth to slide over the shell of his ear. “A very,” he says as teeth nip once at them before nosing down to trail lazy kisses over his neck, “vampiric visual you have there. Of-essentially-giving me the green light to ruin this pretty coat–”

“Stop,” Miles laughs. He takes the preciously tipping glass out of his hands and balances them on the ash tray. One wobbles over the debris, and Alex can’t see how that was any better than holding it but then Miles uses his free arms to pull Alex in closer. He tucks his chin over his shoulder and lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s like the world has stopped.”

Alex is inclined to agree, but before he can voice anything to the contrary he hears a strange rattling sound in the distance. Miles hears it too because he freezes, whipping his head back into the house.

“What the–”

But Alex has listened to enough LBC to get the hint, and he spurs into action. “Mi, it’s Tuesday!” he rushes out, then grabs at his hand to pull him into the house. He takes a saucepot drying on the side and swipes a spoon from the cutlery drawer. Miles, still confused, looks at him like he’s lost the plot. Alex just rolls his eyes, pushes the pot and spoon into his hands and herds him towards the front door. “It’s eight o’ clock, on a _Tuesday_.”

If he didn’t clock on before, he does now when they step out into the front to see their neighbours down the street outside their homes. The rattling is louder here, but what’s louder is the applause that comes from almost every household stepping out on their doorstep.

Alex gets a wave from one of their elderly neighbours that always used to stop him for a chat whenever he took the bins out. She’s holding up a metal pot and Alex goes to raise their own but Miles is already doing it. He uses the spoon to bang out a messy rhythm and Alex lets out a loud whoop which carries down the road.

He joins in with the applause, waving at more neighbours that he hadn’t seen in weeks. Miles rattles out a quicker, unnecessarily complicated rhythm and for a moment it feels like the surge of electricity finally connects with the source.

Miles takes a break to join in with the clapping and Alex falls into him, wrapping around him with a giddiness that he feels like a butterfly bursting from the ground, fluttering round and around–

“The world still carries on, Mi.”

It does. The street feels like a community again, and the gratitude they express to the National Health Service on a Tuesday night echoes on in the eclectic sounds of pots and pans in a hopeful sea of applause.

In a window facing out to the street is a picture of a rainbow scribbled in with crayons. Underneath the arch it reads in big letters:

“ _Thank You NHS”_

The world carries on. The music carries on, and they adjust accordingly.

Miles still goes back to box at his place every week and Alex finally picks up the slack to take a couple of hours in the week to sweat himself out in the gym. When he’s not torturing his physical body, he’s torturing his mind when he forces himself to sit at his desk _as adults do_ to turn his rambles into semi-comprehensive sentences.

He’s got several things taped down in the notebook in case he accidentally bled all over the paper or something. He imagines blood would be near impossible to remove from paper, and his thoughts have been slowly turning homicidal at the booming coming from downstairs.

He’s got the door closed, because it’s a Thursday and that means BT Sports have a scheduled line up of WWE today. It’s a good match, going by the sounds that he can’t fucking escape from because of course Miles left the door open and Alex can’t _think_.

Tucked into his working space, he’s got warm socked feet resting on the low rest, back propped up by a great firm cushion– he’s comfortable. So he feels no shame in waiting for a lull in the commentator’s ‘ _Oh my god it’s a beat down!’_ to holler at the closed door of his study.

“Miles!”

He pauses, listens to Miles’ howl of excitement and resists the urge to pull his hair out.

“Miles! S’too loud!”

Texting seems like the wise option, but the show's a tape from 1am and Miles had been avoiding his phone all morning for fear of getting match spoilers. He'll be engrossed for a while yet, hence why Alex pushes his chair back and stands up. It’s the rise of irritation from failing to concentrate, of yelling into an empty room, of having to now sacrifice his comfortable spot, and having to travel down these bloody stairs that makes him storm into the room.

A man done up with red and black face paint sticks his tongue out on the telly. The commentators are raising their voices over computer-generated audience sounds and when the Demon King goes to raise those powder-dusted hands Alex swipes the remote from the low table and shuts the whole thing off. The TV goes black. The noise shuts off to silence. Finally.

Miles splutters from the settee, “Alex what the–”

The words cut off when Alex turns to him. He doesn’t exactly know what his face looks like, but his eyes feel wide and head taut with the rise of his eyebrows. He levels it at Miles’ stunned face then, without speaking, he throws the remote into the far corner armchair and storms out of the room again. He makes a point of pulling the door closed behind him.

When he goes back to his study and sits back at the desk the sounds of the match start up again, but it’s at a reduced level now with the sound muffled with the closed door. He sits there for a moment and tries to exhale the adrenaline, closing his eyes.

He never really has a set day to work on his words. They’re like the elements of water; slippery to get a hold of, easy to bond and break. It’s less reliable than a tide table and more akin to freak waves that sends swimmers and surfers racing to the shore. He rides the moment when it comes, or somehow conjures up a vortex to spin down into because it’s never really there when he needs it.

He had something playing around before he had left the room, but whatever it was got drowned out by the noise, so he traces his mind back to recapture that feeling he was coasting around with. A few more breaths later and he feels calm enough to carry on.

It’s then that he notices the muffled sounds are gone.

A soft knock comes at the door. “Al?”

Alex makes a noise, and it probably sounds like an affirmative grunt because Miles opens the door, holding his Stone Roses mug and a sheepish smile. Looking at him, Alex feels the irritation ripple out to gentler waters. Yes, he’s a weak bastard but Miles has the sincerest brown eyes, and he has _tea_.

“Brought you an apology tea,” Miles says as he walks in, and it’s a natural reflex for Alex to tilt his head up for the kiss he accepts with the mug.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, wrapping his hand over it. He doesn’t need to check if it’s at the right temperature because it’s _Miles,_ and the waves wash over any lingering ragged edges as the storm passes. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It were a little dramatic,” Miles smirks, leaning against the desk. “But I shouldn’t ‘ave left the door open like that, got a little carried away.”

Alex laughs a little into his tea, feeling the warmth of the drink waft back to his lips. “Yeah.”

Miles looks over the organised chaos of his workstation. “How’s the wording going?”

Swallowing a sip of tea, he curls his hand over the handle and shrugs. “A little shit? Drawing a blank on some things...”

“Need a soundboard?”

It’s a tempting thought, and he twitches his fingers over the mug, thinking. “Thought you had a date with the Demon King.”

Miles knocks his leg against his. “Finn Balor can wait for a bit, yeah?” And it’s not a statement to be taken lightly. Finn Balor is up there with Kingfisher chips and lie-ins on a Sunday. “Need me to bring a guitar?”

“No, just need you,” Alex says, setting the mug down at the desk. His eyes flick back to Miles and he bites back the smirk at the way Miles’ gaze travels up his body. He can be so incredibly easy to rile up sometimes. “Mi, grab your–”

“Tea, yes. I’ll be a min.”

He pushes off the desk and Alex is just biting a full smile at this point. The open notebook looks a little less daunting now, but it wasn’t always something that he needed two minds to wrangle with.

It’s this inconvenient, bloody little thing in his life called ‘love’ that just makes every mundane thing better. Not that songwriting was ever mundane before, it’s just that he knows what it can be like when Miles is there to experience it with him, and _why_ would he refuse that?

Later in the evening, the post-dinner TV sees Alex sitting next to Miles on the settee as big-screen Finn Balor charges at his opponent, twists like a fucking panther and sends them body slamming to the floor.

Miles has been twitching for the move for a while, and when it happens he shoots up from the seat with a snap of his fist. “Yes! Fucking boss la, get in!”

Alex watches, in part interest and amusement. “That’ll get him up the ranks, right? So he overtakes the Yank.”

Miles slowly sinks back to his seat, eyes peeled on the scoring table that flashes up on the side. Alex lifts his hand from behind Miles to return it to the back of his neck, rubbing absently. “He was gonna go up regardless. Bookies predicted that ages ago, but we knew he was gonna smash the whole lotta them in Mania. Yes! Look at tha’, he’s ahead of all of ‘em. Bossed that.”

Alex looks back from the TV to watch Miles’ animated face. It’s an enjoyment in itself to watch him focus so intently on this and Alex feels his mind wander again. He thinks of words to describe the workings of all the little moving parts, the deconstruction of his tells and quirks, that make up the final, perfectly chaotic product of this man. He thinks about the enrichment he brings into his life, thinks that its only possible to describe it with a culmination of every semantic trick in the English Language.

Sometimes the light can seem a little far away, and the depths of the tunnel darker than they used to before.

Later in the week it’s clear Miles is feeling the press of the tunnel again.

He also knows that it’s pressing a bit harder than most days because that’s the fourth cigarette he’s had in the last hour and yes Alex is counting.

Beer to be replenished, Alex walks into the kitchen again and catches a glimpse of Miles hunched over the decking outside, phone pressed to his ear. He’s been out there since the first cigarette, one he slid from a packet that never used to live in his pocket before. Alex lingers for a bit, cold beer wet in his hands, then goes back to finish his pile of ironing.

Whatever’s bothering him triggers another urge to smoke because Alex notices the long fingers twitch towards his pocket at the pings of his phone.

It catches Alex's attention from his lounging position on the settee in the music-crafts room and he lowers his phone showing his abysmal score for the week’s total of _Duolingo_ French.

Miles stands at the worktable where he’s been giving the guitars a little love, because they’ve been stored away ‘for too long Al, it’s disgraceful’. He’s gently wiping dust off the fretboard of a guitar Alex had –genuinely– forgotten he’d owned but also levelling dark looks at his pinging phone. The Green Gestapo pouts at him and he turns off his screen with a grimace.

“Someone on your back?” Alex says, and he tries to work out the shuttering of his face when Miles snaps his eyes up to him but then skates away from his phone back to the guitar.

“Nah, jus’ stupid shit.” He shrugs, smiling wryly. It wouldn’t have convinced Alex on a bad day. The twist of his mouth is all wrong and Alex sits up properly because Miles must know he’s not going to let this just slip by.

“Who is it?”

“It’s–Al, you don’t have to look like tha’. M’not in trouble.”

Alex doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he stops thinking about the metal baseball bat under the bed. “Right, c’mere then. What’s botherin’ ye?”

Miles drops the cloth on the table with a sigh. He swipes up the phone and Alex makes space for him to throw himself down into the chair. He doesn’t say anything, just turns his body towards him and waits.

“It’s one of me old mates, from home. You know how you can go without talkin’ to someone for ages, but you can call ‘em up whenever and just chat shit for ages? He’s one of them mates.”

“A best mate. Is this Sean?”

“ _Of course_ you’d know ‘im.”

“He sends you a birthday card every year!”

“Alright, yes him. We were getting back to talking the other week, and we’re talking about, you know, current events.” At Alex’s encouraging nod he continues. “And I know we’re not identical in our political views, but I thought we could’ave a reasonable discussion abou’ things. Just like things in general, you know.” His fingers are twitching again, and at the ping of his phone his hand curls around it. “But Sean jus’ seems to want to prove me wrong on everything, and I’ve grown tired of answering ‘im.”

Alex chews his lip, feeling his eyebrows knit together. “Is he being abusive to you?”

“No, s’not like that, baby. It’s like he has to suss me out or somethin’. Like I don’t pass the bar of what his friends have to think.”

“But he can’t expect that all his friends will have the same opinions as ‘im.”

“Exactly as I said!” Miles throws himself back with a growl. “I don’t dig around at my friends’ heads to see if they’re, worthy of attention or–bloody, fucking stupid this. He were my best mate. Loved that la to pieces.”

“Yeah, and you still do.” Alex shifts onto his knees so he can rub a calming hand over his chest. “You don’t drop friends that easy.”

“I don’t,” Miles mutters, eyes closed.

“Which is why you’re gonna call him.”

Miles’ eyes flash open, and the twist of his mouth is bubbling with a word that Alex already knows so he continues over him.

“You wouldn’t be so upset if you didn’t want the friendship to fall apart. If he’s an adult he’ll listen to ye and respect that some things you won’t see eye to eye on.” He quirks a look at him, and Miles looks down at his phone which on cue gives off another ping.

“You should call ‘im.”

Miles opens the home screen, and his face is incredibly stroppy Alex _knows_ he’d gotten that from him. “No.”

“Just call him.”

“No.” He slowly slides off the settee. Alex watches on in amusement.

“Call him.”

He gets a grunt in reply from the slump on the floor. Alex pokes him with a socked foot, wiggling his toes into the fabric of his jumper.

“Good.”

He calls him, leaning into Alex’s chest on the settee. Alex rubs his back as he does, listening quietly as he makes a tentative peace, a _truce_ he hears, with Sean. There’s talk of more frequent calls, and Alex feels the cords of tension in him relax as they move on to talk about safer, less charged topics. He can’t tell if there was significant progress made, if he needs to blacklist Sean from his memory or not, but the end of the call gives him a hint.

Miles turns around, phone dropping into his lap. He looks a little calmer, a lot relieved and Alex memorises the picture as he traces the soft hair at his hairline. Taking Alex’s face in his hands, Miles rocks up to press a firm kiss to his mouth.

“Thank you.”

Alex smiles, sliding the hand from his head down to cup his chin. He brings him forward again for a second kiss that Miles leans into so much he has to tilt his head back a bit. It’s a languid dance, and he sighs into it, tongue sliding over the gentle press Miles pushing him further. Teeth nip at his lip and Alex silently urges him on with the steady hand at his chin.

Miles shifts further onto him, and Alex recognises the hardness against his thigh. But before they take it any further Alex breaks his lips from the kiss, eyes closed, chest rising against his. He’s so close that Alex can run his nose up his cheek, which he does, breathing over the shadow of his lips.

He says, quietly, but every star in the solar system can hear, “We have to hold tight to the people we love.”

Memories of magenta and white electricity linger as he jolts to wakefulness, blinking into the dark.

It’s the middle of the night. The room’s pitched in darkness, although discernible shadows remain. The lingering shapes and colours of hazy details fade as the dream fucks off from his reach, dissipating into the air with each intake of breath. He blinks into the dark, recognising the familiar low breaths behind him. He stretches slowly, sliding a foot back, and relaxes when it brushes against the warmth of Miles’ leg beside him.

The unspoken question gets answered for him when he feels the mattress shift. A warm arm slips over him and he sighs contently as he gets pulled back into Miles’ chest. Heat prickles up his back as a slow hand trails up his stomach, and he’s bare-chested because he gets warm during the night, but he shivers now when he feels fingers brush light over his nipples.

A mouth presses over his nape. “You awake, baby?” He’s gentle with his touches, a courtesy to wait for Alex, even though he already knows his answer. He grunts, then lets out a shaky exhale when Miles’ touch circles the nubs and teases at the skin.

“Yeah.” Alex shifts back and Miles’ leg twists between his thighs which gives him leverage to pull harder and Alex shudders, a whiny sound escaping his lips.

Miles groans into his skin, and Alex doesn’t have time to be smug about riling him up because Miles starts to talk, “Love those sounds you make for me.” His mouth trails kisses, scorching heat up the raised hairs of his neck. “Little darling. Always looking after me, and I’ll look after you. Because you’re mine. Gorgeous.”

Alex isn’t strong enough to curb the aggressive flutter in his stomach. He smiles, then uses the energy he wants to immediately jump at Miles with to curl a hand tight over the arm anchoring him. “Mm, no-one else,” he says.

He’s safe, just like Miles always made him feel. Whether it was in front of thousands or tucked away in the colourful shadows. With Miles he feels safe, in perfect orbit where only he belongs, because only he can take what Miles gives him, where others would only burn to ash. It makes him feel powerful, stable in the eye of the storm.

“No-one else but you, jus’ you and me, baby. We’d do anything.”

He turns his head on the pillow, needing the touch, and Miles makes him melt with it when he cradles his jaw and gives him the kiss he wanted. Finally. He tilts up and tastes the mint and smoke on his lips, breathing it in then groaning louder at the sudden tug and twist he feels at his chest. It has his back arching, and Miles moans along with him.

Miles breaks the kiss, smiling as he noses away the advances Alex stubbornly chases him with. “Need you now, baby doll.” His breath is the perfect adrenaline flaring through the rush of blood heading South to the warmer climates. He can’t even think to mourn the loss when the fingers leave his nipples because they follow the blood and rub over the straining material of his boxers. It’s damp, he knows, and he bucks helplessly into it with a grunt as Miles says into his ear, “Let’s get these off.”

Miles knows he’d always loved his wild side on the guitar, but there’s a side that comes out when they’re in bed. A whirling combination of light and dark that sends any semblance of innocence spinning up to the stratosphere to rain down in scalding drops of debauchery. It’s quite possibly Alex’s favourite one.

When Miles gets his hands around him, slick and perfect, Alex shudders into it with a strangled moan that Miles responds with his own, holding on as he slowly rocks into him.

“Miles,” Alex whines, voice pitching as sensations burst over his skin, where Miles' talented fingers play him like his own instrument. It's on tune to overwhelm him, and they almost knock heads in the rush to catch their lips again. It’s uncoordinated, a clash of lips and teeth at best. But it’s also a perfect distraction for Miles to pry the cheeks of his arse apart and run a finger over the sensitive skin.

Alex can’t be embarrassed at the desperate noise he makes at that. He’s safe here, he’s in orbit, and Miles is the sun and the moon all at once.

He thinks it again, when the eclipse sends his head hazy with pleasure, thrusting up and rocking back into each drive of Miles’ hips. There’s a hand at his neck, firm and warm in the way he always likes it to be. When it squeezes tighter he wants to bite so he turns his head into the pillow, but then he feels sharp teeth graze over his shoulder.

“What did I say about biting, baby?”

Alex growls and tilts his chin down to nip at the fingers around his neck. Miles laughs, hips stuttering. His hand relaxes to move up over his mouth and Alex latches his teeth onto the meatier ball of his palm. He’s not in the eye of the storm anymore, but he’s kept grounded as the wind picks up around him and he reaches back for his anchor, nails digging in hard at whatever he can reach.

“Fuck,” he grits out and Miles curls over him, breathing laboured and heavy into his sweaty hair. It’s sending him on and he whines, tensing as the shine of the aligning star and moon peak past to blind the world with sparkling effervescence.

“Oh shit,” Miles says into his hair. Alex loosens his jaw on his hand and Miles takes it away to rest on the pillow next to his head. Slowly they rock together, through the smaller bursts of electricity that spark and fizzle over the skin, still moving through the thick heat.

“Yeah,” Alex hums, eyes closing but still seeing the colours of magenta amongst the rush of blood and static in his ears. “A fuckin’…god amongst men, Miles. Cross me heart.”

“My heart,” Miles rumbles, and he’s gone off on one now, kissing behind his ear. “My saving grace.”

Alex shivers into it, enjoying the mellowed pleasure lazily. He captures the hand by his head and brings it to his mouth to kiss gently at the teeth indents. “My rearranger. Fuckin' up me life.”

“But in a way you don’t want it to leave?” he says. The familiar words make him smile.

“That’s for _Amerlie_.”

“And now it’s for you,” Miles croons, dipping his head to press a kiss to his shoulder. He doesn’t stop, smoothing a hand through the sweaty mess of his hair, those long legs gently propping up his thighs. He’s a furnace, ever-burning, everlasting, and Alex melts into it. He closes his eyes and softens into the embrace, listening to the whispering words being recited into his skin.

“Because they don’t get washed properly facing down.”

It’s a grey afternoon when Alex has to leave.

“And then I get stabbed by a fork every time I stick my hand in there. Fucking great.”

Over nothing really.

“If you do it blind, yeah! Jesus, Al, you know I had to wash that spoon again when you put them face down.”

“They wash the same, Miles, you jus’ don’t clean the food off it before they go in.”

“That’s what a dishwasher is for! Bloody ‘ell.”

At least, it starts off as nothing. It changes when Miles’ fingers move to his pocket. Alex can see it already–retreating to the garden, the inevitable pile of ash on the tray. He can't bite his tongue this time and he says, “Another smoke, yeah?”

The remark stops Miles from where he’d moved towards the garden door. He takes out the packet of cigarettes, which Alex eyes before flickering up back to him.

“Yes,” Miles says, and he starts to inch towards the door. “Is there a problem with that?”

Irritation rises hot in his belly and Alex leans back against the kitchen counter. “Is there a problem with smoking like a chimney every day? I don’t know, you tell me.”

It lands where he expected it would, and Miles frowns at him, stopping. “You don’t think I take my health seriously?”

Alex scoffs at that. “I don’t burn through a pack a day, Miles!” Energy thrums under his skin, a ticking under his eyelid. “I thought you would cut back a bit, maybe? Sorry, I thought a health crisis would’ve made you think ‘bout your lungs or somethin’!” 

He hears his voice ricochet around the kitchen, and it sounds louder when it falls into the quiet afterwards. Miles stares off into the window. His fingers drum over the cigarette packet and the irritation prowling in Alex’s chest raises its hackles again and–

“You know,” Miles tucks the packet back in his pocket and leans against the kitchen island, “you haven’t left the house in a while.”

It’s a non sequitur, and it throws Alex off. “What does that have to–”

“Al,” Miles says, a little firmer now, “babe, you’ve been holed up in here for too long. Go clear your head for a bit, ok? I’ll still be here.”

Alex stares at him. He wants to retort, but the swelling of indignation comes with a disjointed reflection of what exactly he’s doing. He’s clearly asking for a fight here, and Miles isn’t taking it. It’s a jittery feeling and he nudges up the open dishwasher with his foot, closing it.

He stalks past Miles into the hallway, shoves his feet into his shoes–

“It’s a lil’ nippy,” Miles calls out.

–pulls his scarf and hat down from the coat hanger, throws on his raincoat, opens the front door–

“Got your phone on you? Jus’ in case.”

–shoves his hand into his trouser pocket and holds up the phone where Miles can see it–

“And your–”

–shakes his raincoat pocket where the house keys jingle.

“Alright, stay safe, ok? I love you.”

Alex pulls his hat over his ears. He holds the front door but before he goes he turns back and sees Miles blow him a little kiss. He’s not sulking, not in a strop, cranky maybe, and he catches the kiss from the air, holds his hand against his cheek, leans into it for a second–

–and _then_ he leaves.

Alex spends a good five minutes aimlessly walking off his non-strop until he decides to do a jog at the park.

Spring is upon them now, and there’s something about the cool air, or maybe the scrappy squirrels that race up blooming trees to avoid him, or the dogs that strain on their leads to get a sniff at him. Or maybe it’s just the gestalt, he doesn’t know what it is exactly, but it settles the humming under his skin.

He does what feels like eight laps around the 2km perimeter but was probably only half that. At one point the sun breaks through the clouds, and it’s a great Heaven Shining Down moment that Miles would love Alex scrambles to take a picture of the moment before it goes. He feels like a ridiculous twenty-year-old, taking pictures for the Instagram. In his defence, it’s hard to describe a scene like that. Also, that squirrel he swears is getting fed by these people because it slinks close when he sits down at the bench. And when it hesitantly sneaks around his legs he _can’t not_ take a picture of its fluffy little head to boast to Miles about later. God.

The frustration he’d felt feels miles away now. He knows Miles can get restless when he’s stuck in one place, and he’d thought this was something he didn’t need as much, but clearly Miles knows him well too. Almost too well, and he can’t grumble at that fact because the calmness has already settled. A stage colour backdrop changing from alert red to a vivid green, like cold milk over a burning chilli. An exposed wire being wrapped up in the grounding yellow and greens of earth…or something to that liking.

They get shoved into the ‘to ponder later’ folder and right when the clouds start to piss he’s back inside the house. The scent of coffee and toasted bread welcomes him as he toes off his shoes, and after sanitising his hands he follows it into the dining room. He stops at what he sees, taking in the scene before him. Miles sits at the table, and there’s Alex’s mug opposite him with a plate of buttered toast to the side, but that’s not what gives Alex pause.

There’s also a good dozen packets of Marlboro’s cigarettes scattered across the table.

Miles has one in his hands, and he’s fiddling with it when he looks up and smiles at him. “Go on, coffee will get cold.”

Alex stomach rumbles at him, and he ignores the food to sit in the chair next to Miles, hand immediately rising to his neck. “You okay?”

Miles reaches for the mug and plate and he puts it in front of him. “Eat first and I’ll explain.”

Alex pulls the plate closer and takes a large bite out of the toast, following it with the coffee. It’s still warm, and just the way he would make it for himself. He must have made it in the last ten minutes which makes Alex's heart tug because Miles knew he needed that time out, of course he did.

He runs a rough hand through his hair but holds his tongue on his thoughts because Miles drops the cigarette packet in his hands and slides it towards him.

“I want to get through a day without ‘em,” he says, fingers drumming on the table. He’s nervous, and Alex resumes his neck rub. “But I don’t think I can just stop?”

Alex takes it in quietly, then looks over at all the shiny packets strewn across the table. There's something about seeing them laid out in one place that's unnerving to the eye, an element exposed for scrutiny and one that looks much less appealing under the microscope. He swallows, then nods, squeezing gently. “Okay. Alright, we can go slow. That’s fine.”

Miles chews his lip, and he glances at him with those eyes that makes Alex’s heart tug again. “It’s fine if you still want it. Seriously, Al, m’not asking you to do this with me. I’m trying to change a bad habit, one that’s not even been a habit of yours.”

Alex nods. He tightens the hand on his neck and gently pulls Miles’ turtle head to his. “Right, listen to me.” He comes with little resistance, and Alex makes sure Miles is looking at him when he says, “We agreed, way back then, that if anythin’ turned into a dependency then we’d drop it and never pick it up again. Remember that? We’d play the part, but we wouldn’t get sucked in. If you don’t want it, then I’m out too. S’just how it goes.”

Miles offers him a shaky smile. There’s a sheen to his eyes and it sends Alex tipping forward, rising onto his knees so he can sit over his ridiculous man and take his face properly between his hands.

“Hope you got that through your thick turtle head. This is our dragon, yeah? We fight this shit together.”

Miles face is scrunched up in his hands, but he nods. Alex relaxes it to trace over his eyes, wiping gently over the dampness collected at the sides. He leans down and captures those pouty lips into a soft kiss that tastes like butter and crumbs. “I love you, and I’m sorry for being fuckin’ mardy earlier. Was worried about you, but I don’t wanna be like that.” Miles blinks slowly at him and Alex gives him another peck, holding his face close. “’cause you’re my heart too, baby. Never wanna hurt you.”

Miles holds him tightly. “And I’m sorry the forks stab you– oi, stop–” He snickers when Alex tries to fall on him, propping up his weight again. “This is important too. How abou’ we take turns for the cutlery? I’ll make sure to put them face down on your days if you put them up on mine. Sound?”

Alex nods, then pushes his face into the side of Miles’. “Right work we are. Tell me more about your addiction Miles, and _oh yes_ that particular issue with the dinnerware.”

“We shan’t forget the issue of the cutlery. Where it must be placed…”

“Where it must be placed, and _how_ it must be placed. Let’s not forget that, Miles.”

“Orderly.” Miles tilts his head in thought, and the poshness turns up dramatically when he says, “ _Civilly._ ”

Alex controls his laugh as much as he controls the smile that aches his cheeks.

Later in the evening they’re in the kitchen again. This time Miles is dancing around the stove concocting something that will no doubt be another culinary masterpiece for them to enjoy, and Alex is sitting at the breakfast bar on the laptop. He’s got so many tabs open and he's been clicking at links he hopes won’t send him to dodgy sites, but he’s learning a lot from the session of heavy web surfing and he’s already got a mental list of new shit to buy.

“Love your energy on this, babe,” Miles says, stirring a rolling boil of potatoes. Alex looks up and Miles glances back to give him a cheeky smile, eyes soft. “I do, but what you could do right now is search me a recipe for bechamel sauce. A boss one, yeah?”

Alex points at him, smirking. “On it.” He clicks to open his sixteenth tab and gets to work.

As well as multiple versions of how to make the best bechamel sauce (and how to save one), his search history at the end of the day is full of sites like, ‘ _Four top possible stop smoking withdrawal symptoms to know’, ‘Quitting the cigs’, ‘Controlling the cravings: help and advice for smokers’_ and _‘Covid-19 rules that apply to your region’._ It’s the last two that give him an idea, and a plan starts to formulate in his mind.

A few days later, he’s in the bathroom watching the shaving cream fall into the sink with each run of the razor when he brings it up.

“How’d you feel ‘bout busking?”

The bathroom door is open to the bedroom, and Miles enters holding a measuring jug of water. He’s still soft and warm from his earlier shower, and the loosely tied dressing gown falls just over his boxers. Alex’s eyes follow him in the mirror for a second before he focuses back on shaving.

Miles passes him with an absent hand gracing his waist. “Busking huh? Did it a few times on the circuit.” He reaches up for their new trailing plant they keep on a shelf facing the window. It’s been doing well in the humid bathroom and Miles loves the thing, he swears he even hears him talk to it.

Alex tilts his head sideways. “Yes I know that, but I mean–the busk–for now, like–” He lifts the razor as he tries to think, and he sees Miles give him that fond look as he pours the water over the soil. “What I’m try’na say,” Alex pushes on, “is that you could plan summat for the Summer. Who’s that event manager of yours? Amandia?”

“Amandine.”

“Yeah, let her know you’re thinking ‘bout it.”

Miles sidles up to the sink with the plant. “Sorry, love.” Alex moves so he can drain the excess water out. “I tell you what, I ‘ave been thinking about it.” He moves to put the plant back on the shelf and Alex finishes off the last few strokes. “I really liked the acoustic set up, and I jus’ need meself and the guitar for a lot of ‘em.”

Alex turns on the warm water and eyes Miles as he rinses the razor to put aside. “Yeah? Think you’ve done more acoustic shows than me, honestly.” He leans down to rinse the cream off his face and when he rises Miles is chewing his lip. He rolls his eyes when Alex squints at him through the water in his eyes and goes to the heater to throw him a small towel.

“Al, honestly–”

“Thanks.” Alex catches it and wipes it over his face. “So you haven’t told her you’ve been thinkin’ about it. But you like the idea.”

Miles shrugs. “S’not gonna be a guaranteed thing though is it?”

Alex shrugs, turning on the cold water. “No, but you know me–always a raging optimist.” He flashes Miles a toothy grin, and when he leans down to splash his face he feels Miles come up behind him. There’s only a towel separating his lower half from the colder air and he prepares to adjust to the sudden change but Miles just rests his hands above the towel, chin tucking over his shoulder.

“Al, you’re the most pessimistic optimist I know.” He turns his head to kiss at the damp skin and Alex hums, patting his face dry.

“Really know how to make a man blush, Miles.”

“Gotta treat him right,” he mumbles, and then starts to sway them to a song in his head. Alex drops the towel over Miles’ head and reaches over for the aftershave. Blind as he is, he keeps them moving, and his hips nestle in further as Alex squeezes out the lotion. “Surprise ‘im.”

Alex almost feels his heart stop, but he reminds himself that Miles can’t _actually_ read his mind. He’s also glad that the towel had blocked him from seeing Alex’s face right then. Dabbing the aftershave over his now smooth face he chuckles, “What are you on about?”

“Mm.” Miles drags his lips over his shoulder, and his hands slip further down to the joint of the towel. “Movie night Friday?”

Alex thought he was sneaky, but the opposite also applies because he had no idea what Miles was planning until the very, very last minute.

Long story short, the movie night Alex had gathered snacks for was a ruse, because Miles is a bastard, and the night turns out to be a fucking _set up_ because Miles is a bastard and Alex loves him.

The period before he finally realises what’s going on he has no idea of what’s happening. Miles just sits him in front of the laptop in the back room snug, popcorn and drinks set to the side. He’s got a piece of paper in his hand for some reason, and Alex was just looking forward to some casual fondling as they watched some psycho killer thriller rom-com, or something.

“Miles, what–”

He gets shushed, and it’s all confusing because Miles is going back from his phone to the laptop, grinning like a maniac.

“ _Miles_ –” He grunts when Miles pushes a kiss to his temple. If Miles wants him to pull a strop he’ll pull out the entire play, plus the understudies. He _will_ –

“Okay, one sec.” He clicks around on the laptop and the screen goes black.

“It’s not porn is it? Oh my god it is. Did you do summa–”

“Jesus, Al, no. Oh wait lemme get the…”

Miles gets up from the floor, the place where Alex thought they were going to stay for the rest of night and make out on the pillows like the bastard had clearly insinuated they were going to. He grunts, but then when he reads the screen it says: _‘The host will let you in soon’_ and he swears, loudly.

“Why am I in a meeting?!”

Miles laughs when he runs back into the room, earphones dangling from his fingers. “Not any meeting, babe.”

Alex opens his mouth, but the words turn to air as Miles drops down next to him and fits them in. He tweaks the volume on the laptop, goes back to his phone and Alex feels a swoop in his belly as he tucks the earbuds in and the screen flickers to show him–

“ _OI OI, MATEY!”_

Three rowdy men in various stages of undress.

_“SURPRISE BROTHER!”_

He feels his cheeks stretch impossibly wide. Shaking his head, he says to the three culprits on the screen, “Why did I not see this coming?”

Matt, lounging back in his armchair in a vest and a beer in his hands says, “Yeah we’re taking over your Friday night. Apologies if we’re keeping you from your special time.”

“Yeah, thought it’d only be fair.” Nick grins into the camera, and there’s a party hat slapped onto his head. “We’re barely getting any as it is…” He laughs when Alex gives him the finger.

“So you lot thought to sabotage mine, did ya?” he drawls, but the annoyance is probably ruined by his wide smile. Miles snickers next to him, and he squeezes a little over the back of his neck.

“M’gonna leave you to it.”

Matt spins a pen in those nimble fingers. “Well, your man did set it up. I just had to wrangle everyone for the time.”

Alex reaches out and feels a warmth pooling inside when he slides a hand up Miles’ arm to grip his forearm, rubbing over it gently. “Yeah?”

Miles only has one half of the conversation, but with his sheepish look he’s probably guessed. Alex doesn’t know what he looks like, but Miles has that endearing blush on and he’s shining so bright Alex is drawn in.

“Yeah, so put the blame on him. Oh great they’re at it now.”

“I’ve got kids here, man.”

“Miles! How’s the 'everlasting source of vitamin D' going?”

“He can’t hear you, Jamie.”

“Do you know Alex writes love songs to you and pitches it to us? We’ve told him to stop but...”

Alex laughs against Miles lips. He pulls back, hand falling from his chin to shake his head at Jamie’s cheeky fucking face.

“Enjoy your snacks,” Miles says as he gets up. “I’ve a date with Finn Balor.”

Alex leans into the hand that graces his cheek, the smile too big to stop now. “Okay, I love you.”

He cranes his neck to watch Miles as he waves a quick hand at the screen on his way out. “Love you,” he says, winking. He sends a little kiss flying before he leaves and Alex catches it without fail, eyes trailing on the empty doorway when he slips away.

“Why have a games night when we’ve our own romcom here lads? Fucking quality TV this.”

“Never thought catching kisses would be so interesting to watch.”

“Makin’ me miss the Missus ‘bout now, not that she’ll be interested.”

Alex turns back, plucks a popcorn from the bowl and gives them the finger again, making sure to move it around the camera so it reaches every one of them. “Miles and I are keeping romance alive, you jealous, horny pigs.”

Matt stretches out, grinning into the rim of his beer. “You know, I still have that video of you drunkenly announcing your ‘ _only and truly love’._ ”

“Oh shit I remember that,” Nick laughs. He reaches past the camera and his hand comes back with a purple child-proof bowl of snacks. He pops one in his mouth. “Unreleased Monkeys track number seventeen I think it’s called? Or erotica volume one. I get ‘em mixed up.”

Jamie, who’s flicking through different Zoom backgrounds says, “No I remember it being volume three at that point. Wrote a sound riff on that one though, jus’ saying.” He settles for one that looks like the inside of a seventies dive bar.

Alex doesn’t know how to do that, but he wants to. He’ll bug him about that later. “Yeah, I thought you were gonna delete that.”

“Nah, this is blackmail gold.” Matt winks at him and sets his drink to the side. “Okay boys, you need a pen and paper. Remember those?”

Alex slides his up to show the camera. “We doin’ a quiz?”

“I thought we were gonna use Jukebox,” Nick says, reaching for something else off camera.

“We’re doing it old-fashioned ‘cause Alex doesn’t know how to play the new way.”

He makes a face but takes it without complaint. There’s a lightness, a swirling giddiness that he’s coasting now. Seeing his brothers, falling back into a rhythm that always guarantees him a right belly laugh. It’s a bright feeling, and he’s just riding on the high of having his brothers roast him again. He wants to bring them close, squeeze them into his most lethal of bear hugs, kiss those bloody cheeks–

“Love you guys.”

“Love you too man. Now, let’s get this party quiz night on! Bevvies at the ready lads!”

He’s still feeling the radiance of the surprise when he trots off to find Miles later. The door to the TV room is cracked and he opens it to Miles sat on the edge of the settee, gaze locked onto what looks like the end of a match. He hasn’t noticed Alex yet, so he bounces in and launches himself at Miles’ back.

“Oh my god, it’s a beat down!” he yells, and Miles twists to catch him. Laughing, he pulls his kicking legs over the back of the chair.

“Oi, you rascal,” he chuckles, wrestling him off when Alex goes in for a choke hold. Miles manages to wrangle his arms down and lick a wet stripe up from his cheek to his temple. Alex, flushed, and very much up for it, doesn’t twist his head away like Miles was obviously expecting him to. Instead, he bucks up, almost headbutting him, and darts up to catch his mouth.

He goes in a bit too hard because he hears Miles hiss and pull off. “Bit me lip, you minx,” he mumbles, flicking lightly at his ear as he reaches over Alex for the remote and the match switches to the normal telly. Alex hears the familiar starting tune for _Strictly Come Dancing_ and he cranes his head to peek at it. Miles returns his hand to curl over his arm and Alex sees the damage at the small red line on Miles’ bottom lip.

“Yeah, oh my god I did.” He wants to reach up to it but Miles has him pinned down. “Sorry, it were…the heat of the moment.”

“ _The heat of the moment._ ” He hears Miles repeat with a scoff. Alex offers him a smile, sheepish, and he purrs into the consolatory kiss that Miles leans down to give him. He tries to chase his lips when Miles pulls back but he just chuckles. “You’re on one a bit tonight aren’t ya, love?”

“Yeah,” he groans, needing Miles’ hands on him. He must look a little desperate because Miles stops pinning him down and settles over him properly. Alex immediately wraps his legs over that slim waist, and he takes Miles’ face in his hands. “Thank you, it was perfect. Won every word game. I love you.” He’s careful the next time he initiates the kiss, keeping it gentle as Miles shifts over him, smiling into his mouth.

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” he says, eyes zeroing in on his nose, briefly distracted by the curl of his lips. Words rush forth, bursting and fizzling, and then dissipating as he’s distracted by the symmetry of his bones under that soft skin–

Miles butts his head with him. “You’re totally smashed aren’t ye?” He noses over him and Alex tries to twist them off the settee onto the floor. The room is now a wrestling ring. He’s decided.

Miles resists the take down, probably because it would send them crashing into the coffee table. Probably, or maybe he’s just scared of getting his title challenged. The latter, Alex decides. “Show me your moves, Kane. Mr Zero Gravity 'imself.” He bucks up into him and yeah, he may be slightly intoxicated, but it’s slight, a slightly one. Sugar semantics and that. He widens his eyes at him, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

“You eggin’ me on now, ey?” Miles slips his hands over Alex’s chest and he tenses.

“Mi–”

“Ey?” His hands start to dig in and Alex twists, clenching his stomach with a yelp as the tickles come hard and fast. He laughs, feeling his heart thump and burst in his chest.

“Ah, can’t–” he cuts off, twisting away from the attacking hands “–can’t breathe! Miles!” he wheezes out, and giggles breathily when Miles spares him.

“Can’t take my moves, baby.” He looks smug, ruffled and ultimately ripe for the picking perched over him. Alex's leg had slipped off so he throws it over him again to squeeze him further down.

He catches his breath to say, “With all due respect, babe, Fuck your moves.” He reaches a weak hand out to run it over Miles’ smirking face, making sure to drag it over his cheeks. He pushes it over his forehead and curls it behind his neck to pull him down. “Now come and…kiss me properly.”

* * *

On the telly, the dancers spin in their twinkling sequins. The set is made up like the surface of the moon and the audience claps when a disco ball begins to spin in the middle of the stage.


	3. Act III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...a disco ball begins to spin in the middle of the stage._

_Gestalt (noun): A configuration or a pattern of elements so unified as a whole that it cannot be described merely as a sum of its parts._

The gears of Alex’s plan begin to turn almost immediately after Miles’ surprise. Of course, there’s the inevitable 24-hour hangover and its effects, because sadly he hasn’t got the safety net of reckless youth anymore. It’s not one can easily slip back into, but fortunately–or maybe not–recklessness isn’t always lost with age.

He squints at the dimmed screen of his laptop showing several tabs open at once. It’s quiet in the darkness of the bedroom, a peaceful moment in the night, so he startles when a loud advertisement begins to blast from the laptop speakers. He’s not on YouTube–no, he is–and he clicks on that tab, but the advert’s not on there, so he fumbles around quickly, trying to locate the culprit.

“Al…” A low voice grumbles next to him. Miles, because they’re in bed and it’s kinda late. He doesn’t feel tired though, just a little jittery–

“It’s two in the morning,” Miles murmurs sleepily. He shuffles, like he's going to turn around to face him but Alex reaches out after he exits the noisy site and slides a hand into his cropped hair.

“Sorry. Sorry, go back to sleep.”

Miles nestles deeper into the bed. He’s had a little trouble with sleeping throughout the night, and Alex realises that this night-time research wouldn’t be helping much. He winces, then adjusts the volume to zero. Since when did website advertisements play by themselves?

“Wha’re you doin?”

Alex freezes, but then immediately begins to bookmark every open tab into his smartly named ‘nothing of interest’ folder. “Um, jus’, like…Some emails. Checking,” he says quietly, the calm simmering behind a faux stone wall.

“Ah, your secret.” He hears from the sleepy lump. He shoots it a startled look.

“S’not a secret.”

“Nah, not really.”

It’s muffled, but there’s a laughing quality to it that makes Alex snort. He turns back to the website he was browsing with an exasperated smile. “You don’t know what I’m doing.”

Miles says something else but it’s more abstract mumblings that he relays into the pillow. He’s out again in minutes. Alex listens to his little snores for a moment before scrolling down to the ‘contact us’ information.

At breakfast Alex trudges into the kitchen feeling like death.

He’d woken up to the feeling of something being dislodged from his side. The laptop, he’d recognised blearily, watching Miles take it off the bed with some wise words that he’d forgotten by now. It was too early to get up then, so he’d rolled into the Miles-shaped dent when he’d left to ‘ _make brekkie’_ and basked in the warmth for a couple more winks.

It helped as much as one could expect from going to sleep to the sounds of singing birds.

Coffee, he smells. He shuffles into Miles’ side where he’s giving the coffee machine filter a rinse. Alex rests his cheek on his shoulder and hums when he gets a pet at his hair.

“When did you get to sleep?”

Alex breathes in the coffee, then rubs his nose into his clothed shoulder. “Can’t answer tha’ question, Miles,” he says, closing his eyes. He’s got the radio on, and Laura Lee’s singing about needing a _‘down right, uptight, good man_ ’.

Miles scratches at his head, and Alex could fall asleep right there, but he has stuff to do.

“M’going to the shops.”

“Eh, not like that you are.” Miles turns to herd him to the breakfast bar. “Got your plate staying warm in the oven, so you’ll ‘ave that before rushing out, Mr. Bond.”

“ _Girls, so let’s take your time, and try to find somebody to love you, and that will appreciate you. And that’s why, I need a good man…”_

Food helps. He feels himself wake up a bit more after he wolfs it down and finishes it with the coffee waiting for him. It's good, and he says as much when he presses himself against Miles' back afterwards, saying, _"Chef Kane, l'homme de la cuisine, l'homme de mon coeur"_ into his blushing nape. The stage lights shine on his agenda for the day and he feels much more alive when he jumps in the shower, singing his own rendition of the Laura Lee song.

Before he leaves the house he makes sure to give Miles a thorough demonstration of his appreciation by turning him from the dishwasher to pin him against the kitchen counter. The kiss he steals is sweet, but Miles panting into his mouth is even sweeter. He makes a pretty picture like that- holding onto the marble, jaw slack and sighing as Alex kisses down his throat, hand working him through what they’d missed that morning.

He laughs a little when Miles growls at him for stopping, but he slides back with a tissue and a cheeky smile. “Not gonna ruin me outfit, Mi.”

When Miles’ shuddering groan gets swallowed into the kiss, lips slacking again, and the tissue is sufficiently debauched he wipes them down and tucks Miles in gently. He’s leaning limp against the counter, and his cheeks are quite pink Alex leans in to peck at them again.

Miles just breathes into it, nuzzling up like he can’t help it, “Gonna be the death of me, baby.”

Alex smiles, zipping him up carefully. “I said it first.”

Miles creaks an eye open. “Since when?”

“Or I thought it. It’s an ongoing theme up ‘ere. You, killing me.”

Miles sinks back, a breathless laugh falling from his lips. Alex points at him, quirking an eyebrow as he moves around to grab his Bags for Life to take to the door.

“ _Plan B!_ ” He hears Miles shout as he sanitises his hands. He knows that starting line, because they’d been obsessed with that movie for so long, and he finishes it as he slides his coat on:

“’ _Why don’t we just kill each other!’_ ”

He grins, hearing Miles’ laugh as he closes the door.

The adventure sends him to various places. Mostly because when he picks something up it sparks new ideas of what Miles might need, and so his trolley quickly starts to fill up. He supposes he could have just made an online order for all of these things, but there's something about being amongst people for the mundane things that he enjoys. He doesn't enjoy the marked arrows on the floor though, and no-one else seems to be following them, so he just focuses on what they'd need. He does what feels like multiple circuits of the same aisles until the mask starts to make his eyes ache and he finishes up.

When he’s paying up at the till, something else catches his eye.

“Are those for sale too?”

The woman at the till smiles behind the visor, scanning through four little sachets of cupcake mix. “They are indeed, love. Proceeds go to War Child UK. Which one did you want?”

He looks over at the cookies, deciding.

“And I got bread…”

“Babe, we already have a loaf.”

Alex shoves the new loaf into the freezer. “And now we have backups. Eat your cookie an’ stop judging me.”

Miles snickers, watching him from the breakfast bar. He takes a bite from the oversized cookie, black and white icing decorated to look like a ghost, and takes a sip from his birthday mug. It’s a customised one taken from a picture of him and Alex looking terrified in front of the Cutty Sark. 

“Also, the car was making this weird sound on me way back. Gonna get it serviced.”

“Okay. Ooh and he’s got thermals.”

“I got thermals.” Alex turns his back so Miles can’t see him stuff the two betraying cups to the back of the bag, along with a thermometer. “Jus’ randomly picked it up.”

“Yes, randomly.”

“And these.” He pulls something out of the bag and slides them across the breakfast bar. “We’re sharing them.”

It’s a family pack of Extra’s chewing gum. In two flavours. Miles looks it over, humming. “Boss these. Supposed to help, you know, with the cravings.”

“S’why I got ‘em.” Alex pulls more things out of the bag and stuffs them into the fridge. He’s got another thing in the car, but he can’t show that to Miles yet. “Wanted to have one waiting in that bloody queue, to be honest.”

Miles is giving him a look. He can feel it like sun rays to a petal. It’s one of those that make him fucking soft inside, so he turns to scavenge through more bags for things to put away.

“Eat your cookie, Mi.” He pulls the rest of the bags together and tries to hide the contents when Miles peeks. “And no following!”

Miles almost figures it out.

“I just want to bake shit today, Miles. Pass us the flour?”

Miles moves away from the phone, and as the current song ends he grabs the open bag and hands it over.

“We’re on a right scran today, ey? I’m just sayin’ between the two of us, it’s a lot to get through.”

Alex turns the batter, adding a little more flour to the mix. “It’s not just for today.”

“You taking it somewhere?”

Alex says nothing.

“Oh, I’m onto somethin’ aren’t I?”

Alex continues mixing. Miles hums along to the song, and Alex recognises it as one of Madonna’s. She doesn’t usually feature on Miles’ playlists, but he quickly works out why now when Miles slips behind him and sings:

_“It took me much too long to understand how it could be, until you shared your secret with me…”_

“You’re hilarious,” he says, relaxing into the sway that Miles rocks them to. “And m’not telling ye.”

“Are we going to the beach? So is this like a picnic thing you’re doing then?”

Alex feels his heart trip over itself. “It’s not–the food isn’t–stop askin’ me questions.”

Miles snickers. He digs his face into his shoulder and sings, _“Something’s comin’ over me. My baby’s got a secret.”_

_“And he’s not fucking telling,”_ Alex sings in the spirit of the song. “I booked us a slot at the local Covid testing building, place, centre-thing.”

The hand resting on his waist squeezes. “Okay, is there a reason why?” Miles tenses. “Someone cough on you?”

Alex leans back, donning a sultry pucker as he says, “Only you, baby, all that drool in the morning–” He chuckles at the wet lick he feels and rolls his neck away from Miles’ flicking tongue.

Madonna sings about a paradise she thought she’d lost returning to her for good and Miles relents, pulling his tongue back in like the lizard he is. That makes Alex pause.

“Are turtles lizards?”

“What are you on abou–are you seriously checking it now?”

“Curiosity is a human trait Miles,” Alex says, slipping away to wash his hands at the sink. “Wait can you check on the cupcakes? Need to make space for the biscuits.”

As the date fast approaches Alex feels a sense of urgency and excitement, but also a churning trepidation. The type that comes when one lines up for a rollercoaster that’s been shut down prior for safety reasons but is now _open for business._ The silence wafts with quiet optimism but the weather’s getting ugly, a baby’s wailing in the distance and the train might still just fail, crash and burn–

“It’s negative,” Miles announces, and the sun breaks through the clouds like a fork to a soufflé. Light and effortless. The air sweetens with the audience breaking into their mini overpriced ice creams with spoons more alike to flattened sticks–

“Your face,” Miles snickers and Alex opens his eyes. Miles exaggeratedly twists his face to one akin to a creepy orgasm and Alex falls onto him, sending them stumbling in their growing garden. “So, your plan can continue?” When Alex shoots him a look Miles adds on, “The one of which I know nothing–absolutely nothing–about, and isn’t a beach?”

Alex pauses, then wraps an arm across Miles’ shoulder. “Yes, Miles, you’re quite right there.” He pushes a hard peck to his scratchy face. “You know absolutely nothing about it.”

The suspicion sets in the next morning when Alex comes down the stairs with two duffle bags.

“I’m not gonna answer so don’ ask.”

“Jesus, Al, it’s like we’re leaving the country.”

Alex says nothing. He places the bags at the door and checks everything. Food, water, thermals, phones.

“We still bringing the bevvies?”

He snap-points at Miles, because _yes_ he almost forgot. Fridge things, he pulls out the six-pack, along with an icepack to go into the boot. The boot that when he opens Miles lets out a low whistle.

“Hoo baby.”

“It’s jus’ a cooler.”

It’s big enough to store all the packed food and drinks, which includes the sandwiches Alex had slapped together in the time it took for Miles to take his usual pampering showers. He’s been smug ever since he caught Alex packing sunscreen and towels and Alex knows he thinks he’s got it figured out. He winks and reiterates ‘ _definitely not a beach’_ all the while quietly sure in his turtle head that he’s in on the joke.

Fucking Ha.

He’s suspicious now though, especially at the extra duffle bags. Alex blocks him from inspecting the boot after they haul everything in and he has to physically wrestle the nosey git into the car.

“Are we goin’ to me Mums?”

Alex closes the passenger door on those puppy eyes and jogs around to the driver’s side.

“Are we goin’ to _your_ Mums?”

Alex flails for a moment. He points at the door holder and Miles wordlessly pulls out the crinkly packet of gums. Right. They’re stocked up. They’re good. He relaxes, starts the car and then pulls out of the driveway.

He feels as jittery as Miles looks, peering over the seat to look at the cushions, bags and other shit Alex threw in there at the last minute.

“Feel like a proper Bond girl.”

Alex rolls his eyes, indicating off the residential street and turning for the main road. “They said to not tell you anything until we reach Moscow.”

Miles huffs, fingers drumming on the door rest. “Back to the Motherland then. You’d be a great spy, Al. I can see it.”

He puts on a sneer. “Are you saying I’m unflappably charming and facetious?”

“You can be all of those, but also kind, you know? Thoughtful, devoted like.”

He says it casually, like they’re not words that carry the weight to make Alex want to sink into the radiance of the sun itself. They’re also words with the spectacular element of bringing heat to his cheeks.

“You’re missing me grouchiness,” is what he says, but he holds his palm up on the divide where Miles slides his hand into and squeezes. “The official story,” he starts and turns onto the road for the motorway, “is that we’re on a business trip.”

“And you’re kidnapping me.”

“And yes, I’m kidnapping you. Takin’ you to the border, babe. Gonna stand you up on the shoulders of love, Mi. You won’t wanna come down. Tell that to Amandine at your next meeting.”

“Now you sound like you’re sellin’ me somethin’ dodgy.”

Alex snickers. “I was going more for James.” And he laughs aloud when Miles does a better impression than him.

“ _You gotta try it guys! Take the fuckin’ day by the balls.”_

He makes a great job of it, even with one hand. Alex squeezes their joint hands and brings it to his lips. “Play us some stompers, Mi.”

Long car journeys or not, he could always rely on Miles to put on some tunes, busting out the Northern soul classics like the dancing heart he is. It’s Roy Hamilton’s _Crackin’ Up Over You_ that he eventually plays through the speakers and that’s enough to get them singing along. The clouds thin out on the horizon and the stagehands run about behind the scenes to ready the sun out of the dressing room and into position.

The feeling of carefully set up blocks neatly, precisely, falling into place is the most underrated feeling in the world.

Even the radical blocks, the potential asteroid storm of Shit Fucking Weather doesn’t rain on his parade because the dull morning slowly brightens up to a pleasant shine over the green hills beside the motorway. The car is running smoothly, not that it wasn’t before, he just wanted to ensure that they would easily make it there and back from the Destination with enough battery for the multipurpose usage Alex will need it to perform when they arrive.

Miles has moved on to some band that Alex had never heard of before, but they sound decent, even though their name is a bit weird. Alex gets him to play some of his tunes, and then they recite the entire record of Oasis’ _What’s the Story Morning Glory?_ to their many engaged, intrigued and imagined fans that whizz past them on the road.

The props designer releases the rope for the last falling block and Alex watches Miles’ face when three hours later he turns into a dirt road and drives under a banner that reads–

“Alex…”

“Yeah.”

Miles says nothing, but his slack jaw says all really as he cranes his neck to read the multiple banners. He looks shocked. “Is this even–”

“I’d hope so.”

“A festival?!”

It’s the kind of place that you never knew existed until someone took your hand and led you there, ducking under bushes and navigating through unmarked paths until the pretty colours come fluttering over the hills like it was that easy to find all along. In this situation though it requires a bit more access rights, which is where the NHS test comes in handy.

He wouldn’t normally like to subject himself to such scrutiny; holding out phones showing their NHS receipt for the computer to accept them into the matrix. It feels a lot like a new world order, a dystopian sci-fi where people must be under a certain temperature and whatnot to engage with society. This is more of a who-you-know, ear to the ground, pinky to the sky section of society. But rich boomer kids or not, the banner reads ‘ _RockAges Fest’_ , and the line-up of music was too good to resist.

It’s one of those interesting places where they have to drive in and stay to their designated area in their household bubble, facing the main ‘stage’ which is a massive set up of screens and lights. 

“Baby…”

“Yeah?” Alex can’t contain his grin, feeling the excitement drum his fingers on the wheel. He cuts the engine and Miles reaches over to pull his head in, smacking a wet minty kiss to his temple.

“It’s not the beach…”

“Nope.”

“How did you–” He cuts off, looking around at the other parked cars in awe. Several privacy barriers are up between outdoor areas but it retains some elements of being in some kind of outdoor festival event. There’s a main stage, one made up of several screens and framed with lights which will no doubt come into use in the later hours. It’s grand, a promise of a good show. With the way the world is right now, he doesn’t think there’s anything else like it.

Alex reaches over to undo his seatbelt. “Surprise?”

If there was a play, this would be the part where the back doors open to a carnival of people and music to startle the sitting audience. Confetti would be floating down from the eaves, vuvuzelas blasting down the aisles. It’s a deconstruction of a feeling, and Alex feels it all when Miles pulls him from his seat and attacks his lips to the sounds of a marching band in his ears.

He wobbles in his lap and steadies himself on the window. Miles teases at the lip of his t-shirt, smiling against his lips he pulls between his teeth. Nipping, tasting like spearmint and vanilla cupcakes. Alex anchors a hand behind his neck and delves deeper into the kiss, pushing Miles back into the seat like those cheesy American films where the lady straddles the boyfriend and gives him his first of many sexual experiences. It makes him laugh. Miles holds onto him as the main stage lights up with floodlights and _‘Welcome Rock Fans’_ presents in block letters on the large screens.

_Don't you want to know how we keep starting fires?_

_It's my desire, It's my desire_ –

_It’s my desire!”_ Miles sings and interrupts his chilling-with-beer shuffle dance to spin him in. Alex comes smoothly, holding the drink up high and rocking his hips to the disco anthem.

Where does electricity go, when it pushes through the currents, but the switches are off?

_"Danger! Danger! High Voltage!”_

Alex doesn’t really know, but he’s got a better idea on how to handle it now.

_"When we touch. When we kiss.”_

It’s the little things one has to listen out for, giving an outlet to that bouncing feedback that circulates every living circuit. Planets full of radicals, a micro-chaos of stagehands and understudies racing behind every scene.

_“Danger, danger. High Voltage!”_

Miles switches to a robot man dance, waving those spindly limbs and jerking that goofy head so hilariously Alex forgets to be embarrassed. It gets him giddy, and he rushes to put the can back in the cooler to join him properly, connecting into the circuit.

_“When we touch. When we kiss!”_ He twirls into Miles’ face and shakes his hands at him like he’s being electrocuted. It’s silly, but they're giddy on music so anything goes really. Miles laughs at him and Alex twirls his arms to throw around magic-hand shapes to the beat of the music.

_“Fire in the disco!”_ Miles points at the sky, rocking his head.

_“Fire in the disco!”_ Alex shoots back, pointing and getting right into his face again. He grins when Miles surges forward, nose butting against his. He presses their heads together and they move to a closer dance, hands anchoring onto rocking hips like no-one’s watching.

_“Fire in the taco bell!”_ Electric Six sings through the speakers.

It’s definitely worth the money spent, Alex thinks. The 4am web surfing, the planning and running around. Worth the whole lot. He’d do it again, including risking the fines, just so he could enjoy more of these gifts with this man. He’s sure they could do this at home, and probably will have to after these places get chased down. Again, fucking worth it.

_“Here we are, living dead. Hand to God with one foot in the grave!”_

The aggressiveness of the Foo Fighters’ _No Son of Mine_ blasts throughout the park and they go off.

_“Age of lost innocence. Don't forget what your good book says!”_

Alex belts it out, grinding into the air as Miles dances around him. The song builds, screeches with the guitar and he goes in for the headbanger.

_“No son of mine. No son of mine!”_

He feels the sweat trickle down his neck. Feels 400 degrees.

_“No son of mine. No son of mine!!”_

Miles rocks on his heels and bends back, limber as ever, and lets loose a howl into the sky.

He feels about a sweltering 450 degrees later, or very much soon after the Foo Fighters move into The Beastie Boys because Alex was just looking for those biscuits in the car when Miles had crowded him into the back seat and shoved his jeans down his legs.

They’re straining tight over his thighs now with his boxers, and he can’t open them the way he wants to, so he just squirms and gasps as Miles’ tongue takes him deeper. His hair's askew from that headbanging number so he has to blink through the strands in his eyes to get a clear view of Miles before him.

He’s never been more grateful for the tinted windows, but even if someone had seen them through it the booming of the Beastie Boy’s _Sabotage_ would drown out his noises. Or he hopes so anyway. The people adjacent to them descend into rousing jeers at the squealing guitar and Miles creates a suction with his mouth that should be bloody illegal.

Alex rolls his eyes back, a whine high in his throat. “Mi, fuck, _fuck_ –”

He’s got a hand curled over his hip and it pushes on him as Miles swirls his tongue around him, knees digging into the rubber floor of the car. Alex tries to rise off the seat again but Miles just pushes him down.

“The-Mi, the jeans...me legs, baby-please.”

Miles pulls off and rests his chin on Alex’s clothed knees. He smirks, because he's a man that should come with a bloody warning label. “Like you like this, Al, keeps you in check, yeah?”

Alex groans louder, fingers clawing into the back rests. Miles rubs his face against the rough material and the Beastie Boys scream about fucking shit up through the speakers. It's music that vibrates through his bones, over sensitive skin-

He tenses when Miles reaches out to tease him once more, but shudders into a deep sigh as he takes him in again. Sweat dampens his back, and he already knows he’ll need to change after this because the window is fogging up with the amount of heat they’re producing.

Miles nuzzles his nose into the fine hairs of his thigh and Alex gives in to his request to slide a hand into that soft hair, thumb brushing over his slick forehead. He curls his hand tightly into what he can and the moan Miles sends over him is heaven bolting lightning from the sky.

“ _Ah, can’t stand it, I know you planned it!”_

He speeds up, creating another suction that shows off his handsome cheekbones and Alex can’t look away, watching the solar flare with an unwavering gaze. He squirms, pleasure flaring through his layers, the wind catching him up in a whirl of a hazy red, pulsing magenta, white hot electricity sparking over his surface. Miles pulls off suddenly and he wastes no time in curling a hand around him, quickly working him to the final push, the final scene, on the edge of the eclipse–

“Let me hear it, baby.”

Alex flickers his eyes rapidly over Miles’ face, feeling his body tense–a high string on the edge of snapping–and he can’t help knocking his head back into the seat. He hears himself make a strangled sound that’s more breath than words. It probably sounds like _Miles_ because that’s the name he sees painted behind his eyes, twinkling of star dust glowing in his wake.

“That’s right, darling. I got you…gonna catch ya.”

Alex falls, the marionette snapped from the strings, and Miles surges forward, catching his gasping mouth into his as he works him through the wave. His knees knock against Alex’s straining thighs and his own breath is ragged, affected through the bliss Alex rides on with him, taking eagerly what Miles gives. Everything he gives.

Blindly, he reaches out a hand and Miles catches it, loosely twisting their fingers together where he holds it over his thundering chest. Energy swirls and hums, never completely dissipating but transforming into a new element to use, each one transforming and moving. Radicals in his orbit, the landscaper of his planet’s surface, balanced with the scorch of the sun. It's these elements, the gestalt, so unified in their whole it’s hard to deconstruct them all apart.

It’s a feeling, he has to grant, that’s hard to put into words.

(CURTAIN CALL)

Alex wakes up to a room that isn’t near as dark as he wants it to be.

After spending the night on the car floor in _RockAges_ , atop of pillows and blankets he’d stuffed into those duffle bags, his back finally welcomes a decent mattress. He doesn’t welcome the light however, and he huffs, turning his face into the pillow. “Bright.”

Miles is sleepy and soft next to him. He feels him shift about, and with a dip of the bed he rolls to the edge and gets up. Alex lifts his head to watch him pad to the window, squinting a little but still admiring the line of his back to the length of his legs. He sighs in relief when Miles adjusts the fall of the curtains and the morning light fades.

“Thank ya, babe,” he mumbles and sneaks out a hand from the duvet to reach behind him. Miles slips back into bed and Alex shuffles backwards to get the full warmth of him along his spine.

Miles makes a soft, sleepy sound into the back of his head and the words come quietly, “You’re my great gig in the sky, baby.” He nuzzles at it briefly and Alex smiles into the curtained light of the rising sun. He tilts his face into the pillow but squeezes the arm loosely draped over his waist. “My Cutty Sark pointing me home.” Miles continues, secrets into his skin. “Oh honey, _je t’aime beaucoup_ …”

He’s in one of those sweet moods again, the sap. He always attacks when Alex's soft and defenceless in the morning, and Alex has yet to come up with any protection from it. His skin warms, not entirely by the sunrise, and for some reason the pillow feels a little damp under his face. Alex has no idea why, really. His eyelashes are just wet from the second-hand embarrassment, surely, and his heart is just agreeing with him.

“Little darling, always so strong for me.”

Miles noses away hair at his nape and presses a soft kiss there that Alex shivers to, eyes closing briefly. When Miles finishes Alex blinks them opens them again. He prepares to pull the melted parts of himself together but then Miles starts to hum into his ear. It’s a low humming, but immediately recognisable. Alex listens before he rolls his head on the pillow and joins him.

They don’t say the words, but the melody sings it for them. It kinda sounds like:

_“One day you’ll look, to see I’ve gone. For tomorrow may rain, so, I’ll follow the sun.”_

The humming is a little shaky, and they have early morning voices, but they make it through together till the end.

“And scene,” Miles yawns, shuffling closer.

“That’s all folks,” Alex drawls and follows the yawn with his own.

“Fade to black.”

Alex snorts. “Amerlie’s not gonna be a theatre kid, Mi.”

“Dissolve to white,” he offers sleepily.

Alex wrinkles his nose at that. “No. Spare her the misery.”

“Just think abou’ the dance she’ll do to shadow play…” He cuts himself off with a snicker, no doubt feeling Alex’s laugh in his arms.

“Oh my God, are we doing this now? Ok.” Alex licks his lips, thinking furiously. “Think of her, crying in a lift, holding a cold Subway because you let her life become involved with the grandiose of theatre and now she’s _skint_ –”

“Alright, Jesus.” Miles shakes him, laughing. They settle back in the bed, snickers dying down. Of course, Miles can’t resist to try and one-up him, Alex immediately fires back another and they never really manage to get that Sunday lie in.

It's the things they do.

* * *

  
On stage, the disco ball stops turning but the lights remain. The stars twinkle with the promise of diamonds, an everlasting shine onto the surface of Mercury, forever orbiting its star.

  
(DISSOLVE TO WHITE)

fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: lanatural-books
> 
> **Song Inspirations:**  
>  1\. Totally Wired – Last Shadow Puppets  
> 2\. Bad Habits – Last Shadow Puppets  
> 3\. Uptight Good Man – Laura Lee  
> 4\. Danger! High Voltage (Soulchild Radio Mix) – Electric Six
> 
> **Cultural References:**  
>  1\. Scran: Food  
> 2\. Bevvy/Bevvies: Drinks/Beer etc.  
> 3\. NHS Clap: A real thing that happened (during 1st UK lockdown):  
> 8pm on Tuesdays people clapped to show gratitude for the NHS, emergency and essential workers.  
> 4\. RockAges Fest: Does it exist? (It’s imaginary, please don’t repor–)
> 
> **Movie Reference:**  
>  1\. “We might as well kill each other!” – Face/Off (1997)


End file.
